


Black Sheep, Among Other Lost Quarries.

by portrait_inayellowdress



Series: Yeah Guess Who Doesn't Know When to Stop [2]
Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, High Intelligence Low Wisdom, No Australia (fuck no), Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 60,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28527720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/portrait_inayellowdress/pseuds/portrait_inayellowdress
Summary: When his friends are suddenly put on each other's warpaths, Gray has to make a choice that will change everything.Sometimes, all it takes is the right risk from the right place.
Relationships: Gray | Crackle & Carmen Sandiego | Black Sheep, Gray | Crackle (Carmen Sandiego) & Original Female Character(s), Gray | Crackle (Carmen Sandiego) & Original Male Character(s)
Series: Yeah Guess Who Doesn't Know When to Stop [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945882
Comments: 61
Kudos: 22





	1. Do Ballerinas Commit Burglaries? Amelia Plays Agent

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, ok, so I know I wasn't gonna start this until I finished editing faolm, but with Season 4 coming out I gotta set some foundations for this before that gets released. 
> 
> Anyway, here we are! Enjoy!

Amelia, around two months off of her twentieth birthday and one year moved out of her family home, knows a large myriad of things about herself. There are three of these things that are particularly pertinent to this situation: 

  1. Amelia Diallo is, and always will be, deathly afraid of spiders in any form.
  2. Amelia Diallo will, under no circumstances, be entering her room until such an unwanted visitor is removed from it.
  3. Amelia Diallo should really _not_ be listening to this conversation.



“I just don’t think I’m ready to trust her again.”

“She’s never given you a reason not to trust her. What happened in Korea wasn’t an active betrayal.”

“It was a betrayal of my faith in her, even she understands that.”

“And she never would’ve done it had she known what was going to happen. You know her, you know her intentions have never been malicious.”

“It’s not about her intentions, Gray, it’s…”

Look, in Amelia’s defense, she didn’t mean to! She had just been looking for Gray because she had no one else to turn to. Zack was just as much of a coward as she was about this, and, sure, she could’ve gone to Ivy, or Shadowsan, but Gray had been appointed Official Grand Spider Remover of the Household, and she needed his services.

There was also the fact that asking Shadowsan would be kinda weird, and Amelia’s not sure if Ivy’s still upset with her over the whole Seoul incident. 

So Amelia had come to find Gray. Only to find… this. Like she said, she didn’t mean to overhear it.

The same way she hadn’t meant to edge closer to the closed door. The same way she hadn’t meant to press her ear up against it.

“Look, Carmen, do you want me to be completely honest about what I think?”

There was a pause. Amelia imagined that Carmen had nodded. 

“I think you’re using her as a scapegoat. We all screwed up that night, the only reason VILE nabbed me in the first place was because I literally walked straight into a trap. And if Amelia’s to blame for going to Seoul, I’m to blame for going with her. I don’t understand why she’s the only one who’s facing taking blame for that. What about what you said when I first woke up?”

“I said she was welcome to stay and I stand by that. I don’t think she’s a evil person, but-”

“No, not that. Why did you apologise to me for something you outwardly blamed her for?”   
  


“Gray, I was stressed, don’t bring that up. Amelia was reckless and nearly got you killed, you have to understand why I might have issues trusting her.”

Ouch. Amelia agrees wholeheartedly, but Ouch.

“Well, maybe you could try? She made a mistake, but I enabled that. Please, just give her a second chance.”

Carmen didn’t respond immediately. Amelia didn’t know if it was a Thinking Over What Gray Said way or a Trying To Figure Out The Kindest Way To Put Her Damning Judgement On Amelia’s Character way. But Amelia didn’t even know why Gray was doing this. She’d long accepted her house arrest, considering everything she had caused, it was a light punishment. 

Gray was right, though, Amelia had never intended any of it to happen. She’d never wanted to hurt anybody, but good intentions only went so far when Gray sometimes woke up screaming. 

“I’ll... consider it,” Carmen said, “But I’d feel safer if you kept an eye on her. Are you sure you’re not up to coming on this one?”

Oof. Amelia’s being Babysat again. It’s fair, but it hurts. 

“I think it’s gonna be awhile before I’m ready for missions again,” Gray replied, and that hurts a little more. Though, at least  _ that _ whole disaster wasn’t  _ completely _ Amelia’s fault.

Carmen sighed, “I understand. But there  _ is _ gonna be a point in which you’re going to have to face them again, you do know that, right?”

“I know. It’s just-”

“What are you doing?” A voice whispers from just behind Amelia’s ear.

Oh fuck oh no.

“Shit!” She has the good grace and all around general intelligence to whisper. Ivy stands in front of her, hands on her hips, and Amelia knows that look. It’s the Older Sibling look and Amelia is in  _ big  _ trouble. 

And to be honest, it’s entirely undeserved. Really! Amelia was just innocuously walking by and Didn’t Meaned To her way into this situation  _ completely _ accidentally. She is the absolute innocent here.

“Why are you leaning against the door?” Ivy demanded, her voice low.

“Nothing! Nothing. No reason! I just... needed Gray for something,” Amelia said, her neck suddenly itchy.

“With your ear against the door?” Ivy did  _ not _ look impressed, but, to be fair, Amelia  _ has  _ really messed up this time. 

“Okay, fine, fine. I was listening in,” she murmured, “But I’m allowed to, they’re talking about me!”

“That doesn’t matter, it’s still none of your business,” Ivy shot back, deadpan. Then she paused, “What are they saying about you?” 

Amelia’s surprised she’s not being immediately carted away, “Why do you wanna know?”   
  


Ivy glances around, conspiratorially, “Curiosity.” 

It’s nice to know that Ivy isn’t as bound to Carmen’s will as Amelia sometimes thinks she is. She sighs. 

“They’re arguing about whether I should be allowed to go on missions again.”

“And what’s the verdict?”   
  


“Gray’s on ‘yes,’ Carmen’s on ‘maybe.’ Leaning ‘no.’”

“Hm,” Ivy said, looking at the door. “I know it’s up to Carm, but I reckon you should.”

And  _ that _ was a surprise. Amelia stares at her. Ivy shrugs.

“What? You’ve been punished enough. I don’t think you’re gonna pull a stunt like that again after  _ that  _ shitshow.”

Well, she’s not wrong. Amelia doesn’t even know if she can leave the house again unsupervised after  _ that. _ As much as she hated to say it, she was with Carmen on this one. Is Gray really just that sick of having her around?

No, that’s not true and Amelia knows it. Gray cares for her, even if she barely knows how to talk to him anymore. 

“Anyway,” Ivy said, “You were actually getting kinda good at this whole mission thing.”

Actually?  _ Actually? _

“I was?”

“I mean, you always were,” - to which, yes, Amelia was  _ well aware  _ \- “but, I don’t know, you’ve been getting better, I guess.”    


“Thanks.”

She appreciates the sentiment, even if it’s far too late. Amelia  _ was _ good at this, in the past tense. Now, she’s a wreck. But she doesn’t tell Ivy any of this. 

“What do you need Gray for, anyway?” Ivy asks.

“I need-”

The door in front of them opened. Amelia was face to face with the one person she’d been waiting for. Gray stopped dead, looking at her with surprise.

“Amelia?” he said, “Fancy... seeing you here.”

“This is where I live,” She says. But far more pressing, far more creepy crawly arachnid eight legged monstrosity issues were at hand, Amelia reminds herself, “Anyway, I was looking for you. I need your help.”

“With what?” Gray asks.

Ah, now that Amelia’s here, she doesn’t want to admit it. Gray stares at her, then smiles. 

“There’s a spider in your room again, isn’t there?”   
  


Shit. He knows her too well. She nods. 

“Well, come on, then. Let’s go get old mate out of there. Hey, Ivy.”

“Hey,” Ivy nods in greeting. “I’m gonna go talk to Carm, I’ll see you all later.”

Amelia leads the way back down to her room. She’s made an effort to clean up, all the items that were on the floor are now under the bed, and the duvet is now  _ on _ the bed (well, it was always on the bed, but now it’s on the bed  _ not _ in a lumpy pretzel mass shape). It’s harder to see a spider, she has learnt the very, very hard way, in a mess _. _

“Where is it?” Gray asks. Amelia points to the upper corner, where the eldritch horror resides. Gray looks at it, eyebrows furrowed.

“Amelia,” he says, “I get that you’re… not the biggest spider fan, but…”

Oh, here he goes.

“That thing’s  _ tiny.” _

“It is not!” she insists, “It’s like, half the size of my palm.”

Gray looks like he’s about to say something, but he decides against it, “Ok, ok, fine. Do you have a glass?” 

Amelia has one for just this occasion and, after a moment of rummaging through her meticulous desk space for a stray piece of paper, hands it to him. Well, she tries to. Because Gray pushes it back into her hands.

“No, you’re doing this.”

“What?” Amelia stomach drops at the thought of getting within a metre radius of that thing. “I asked you to do this for a reason!”

“And you might not always have me to help you. This is one of the things in life you have to learn to do for yourself.”

“But I do have you, I don’t… I can’t…”

Gray turns to her, “You wanna be an adult?”

The last time Amelia tried to act like an adult Gray was kidnapped and tortured for two days, so,  _ no,  _ she’s not the biggest fan of the idea, anymore. But she can’t tell him that, she can’t tell anyone that. She’s nineteen years old, even if she feels like this, she needs to act like she doesn’t. Gray should understand that better than anyone. 

“I am an adult!”

“Then get rid of the spider.”   
  


Gray’s really leaving her no other option. But every time she tries to think about it feels like her throat’s constricting. 

Still, she swallows, takes a deep breath, and wheels her chair over to the offending bedroom corner. She climbs onto the seat, which spins slightly, dangerously, beneath her. Amelia stands on it anyway. And looks up.

It’s much… much… worse up close. Amelia can see the gross texture on its gross body, its spindly needle legs, its angry, disgusting pincers, and its murderous intent. She can imagine it rushing her, running down her neck and she tenses, shudders.

“I don’t know, Gray… I don’t know if I can…”

“You’re practically there already. All you have to do is put the glass on it.”

“Can’t you just do this?”

“No.”

Amelia raises the glass. But the spider catches on. And it runs, suddenly, down the wall.

“Agh!”

And the chair swings around beneath her feet. And she can’t keep balance. She can never keep balance. She hears a clatter and her stomach drops.

But then there are hands around her waist. She doesn’t hit the ground but her empty hand smacks something hard.

“Ow, fuck!”

They stay like that for a second, recalibrating.

“You okay?” Gray asks. She nods, breath shaky. 

“I think that’s a sign from the universe that I should stop. Sorry for hitting you.”

“Nah, you’ll be right. Anyway, if the universe is anything to go by, me going through grievous head related trauma is a sign something’s going  _ right.” _

Amelia turned away. She understood it was a coping mechanism, and she did  _ not _ want to be the one to tell Gray to stop, but she hated being reminded of what happened that night. Probably because it was her fault it happened, no matter how much Gray tried to tell her otherwise. 

But more likely because it still stuck so fresh in her mind, that exact moment she’d come to, that night. She can recall it vividly, the pavement cold against her already frigid skin, the blood congealed in her hair, the reason she was there flooding in with an almost unbearable pain to the back of her head. But her first thought was to Gray, where was he? He wouldn’t just leave her there. 

Something was wrong. It became apparent as the blinding panic set in, as Amelia remembered, hazily, the events leading up to the attack. As Amelia realised she was completely alone. 

She’d screamed for him. She’d tried to stand up but she couldn’t find her footing. Carmen had found her curled up on the pavement, shaking, only because she didn’t have it in her to sob. 

It’s why Amelia can barely sleep now. She never knows if the next day Gray’s going to be gone again. If it was all just a dream, and she was alone again. Sometimes, regardless of all logic, Amelia wakes up in tears. 

And she hasn’t told Gray any of this. It would just worry him more, and he doesn’t need Amelia making this all about her. 

“Amelia?” 

“Oh, right, sorry. Spider, right?” Amelia snapped back to reality, to the horrifying task at hand. 

“Yeah. But, is something going on? You’ve been really spacey of late.”

Amelia scratched her neck, “I’m fine, Gray. Same as I was last time you asked me.”

“Hm,” Gray didn’t sound convinced, “Are you sure? You can tal-”

This is the one time in Amelia Diallo’s life in which she would be grateful for the existence of arachnids. Because she would rather take those eight legged horrors of God over having this conversation. And the moment she saw the one that had decided to haunt her, she saw the opportunity to escape. 

Amelia lunged for it, fear forgotten, and slammed the glass over its unsuspecting body. 

“You did it!” Gray said, forgetting their previous conversation, “You know what to do next?”

Amelia’s seen this done enough times to know what to do from here. She slides the paper underneath, and, finally, the ordeal is over. 

“I’m proud of you,” Gray tells her, once the spider was outside. 

“It was a spider. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Yeah, but… anyway. I’m glad to know you could.”

“You really thought I couldn’t?”   
  


“Well, yes,” Gray said, “I… just… Amelia, I’m not always gonna be around to help you. I just need to know you’re gonna be okay, when - if something happens to me.”

He sounded almost wistful, and Amelia desperately wanted to tell him the truth, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Seoul had turned Amelia Diallo into a coward.

“Amelia?” The two of them turn around at the sound of Carmen’s voice. “Can I talk to you?”

Amelia, who definitely did not hear their previous conversation, definitely does not see the pointed look Gray and Carmen share, nor the smile he gives her. She just nods, and lets Carmen lead her upstairs. 

It’s obvious what this is about, but Amelia’s gotta pretend she doesn’t know a thing. She closes the door behind her and stays silent. To the floor, look down to the floor, that’s what Amelia does when the situation’s tense and the eyes are on her. Try and pretend that she could melt into it, find a place where everything’s fine and the world doesn’t seem to hate her very existence within it. It’s what she now does whenever Carmen’s in the room.

It’s not that Carmen blames her for what happened, it’s that everytime they’re around each other Amelia is just vividly reminded that everything Gray was put through was because of her, how close she had come to doing absolutely  _ irreparable _ damage.

And it’s also that Carmen blames her for what happened. 

She just doesn’t say it openly. Amelia doesn’t blame her for it, either way.

Carmen’s smiling at her. It’s a pretty smile, there’s no overt malice behind it, but she always had the grace to be civil, even in the midst of all this. It’s very little comfort.

“Do you remember the VILE operatives we were tracing around Moscow?” Carmen asked.

No. Why would she? Amelia’s been kept out of every single conversation even remotely related to missions since Seoul. They’ve only recently started even bringing it up in remote proximity to her. As far as she was aware, jack shit had happened in Moscow since Putin’s alleged resignation. But there was no way Amelia could say that without sounding  _ extremely _ bitter about it, so she just shakes her head. 

“Well, Player found out that they’re planning on hitting a gala at the Bolshoi Theatre,” Carmen continued, “We don’t know what they’re planning on taking, but we are going to be there to stop it.”

There’s only two places this conversation can go. Amelia doesn’t know if she’d be okay with either of them. Being pulled aside specifically to be told she has to stay at home would be just a little too cruel on Carmen’s part, but Amelia hates the alternative. She can’t take the pressure of doing missions again, not after everything she had done. Why is Carmen putting her in a situation not even Carmen believes she can handle? 

Carmen sighs, “I’d like you to be there as well.”

Amelia’s heart sank, but it sank slowly, giving her the eternal pleasure of feeling the entire transition between shock, acceptance, and pure, awful horror at Carmen’s words. She wanted to scream at her, to grab Carmen by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. She wanted to storm downstairs and slap Gray silly for even  _ thinking _ to put the idea in Carmen’s head. For putting her in a situation she wasn’t even remotely good enough to handle. She wanted to do both of these things all at once.

The anger didn’t feel like proper anger. Amelia knew how to identify grief and fear and rage when she felt it, but she didn’t know how this combination of all three emotions had formed, let alone why this pain was appearing  _ now. _ But it was all so overwhelming, and out of everything Amelia wanted to say, what she did say was;

“Oh.”

Which wasn’t what Amelia wanted to say.

“You need to understand that I am putting a  _ lot _ of faith in you by doing this,” Carmen tells her, “You showed in Korea that you are willing to put everything we stand for at risk for your own gain.”

Gray must’ve had an effect on her, Amelia realises, because for the first time since Seoul, Amelia wanted to tell Carmen that it wasn’t true. That Amelia had never wanted this,  _ any _ of this, and she was selfish, yes, she had acted selfishly and  _ stupidly, _ but everything had so quickly spiralled out of control that how was she to blame for failing to keep a hold on it? She had fallen too far, overwhelmed by the furies she’d unleashed, their power was too great for her to control, and yes, she had been the one to open the box, but she hadn’t meant for any of this! And all she wanted was for Carmen to understand that.

“But we- I- think that you’ve been given enough time to learn the consequences of what you’ve done,” Carmen’s eyes suddenly grow sharp, “But know that if you ever try something like what you did in Korea, you will  _ never _ leave this house again.”

  
Amelia can now only hear her heartbeat, louder than gunshots. Carmen’s entire being becomes a threat to her, but Amelia doesn’t run, not like she wants to. She breathes, slowly, calmly, as she’s done many times before. She stands, still, silent, unmoving because that’s the only thing Amelia can do when she’s scared. 

“There won’t be a point where you’ll be left on your own. I’ll have Player with you at all times, Zack and Ivy as well.”

  
That thought brings her a little comfort, and Amelia finds it within herself to nod.

“I understand.” 

“Good. Though, we’ll be blending in with the gala guests, so you’ll need an appropriate outfit. We leave next week, so have something ready by then.”

Amelia nods again. “I will. Is that everything I need to know?”

“We’ll brief you properly on the way,” Carmen pauses, “Amelia,” she says, “I… even if it doesn’t seem like it, I do believe in second chances. I do want you back on missions with us, both you and Gray. I just…”

“I get it, Carmen,” Amelia replies, “Don’t worry, I do. Now, if that’s all, I’d like to leave.”

Her voice is distinctively stronger than the Amelia of A Year Ago, but she can’t bring herself to be proud of the effort. Carmen, at least, looks a little sad about it. 

“Yes, you can. Thanks, Amelia.”

*** 

“Oh, Meels! You’re in your... formal dress?” Her mama asks, through the video call.

“I’m going to a gala next week,” she explains, “I wanted to try it on to make sure it still fit okay.”

“A gala?” Papa asks, “Didn’t realise you were living it up in the States.”

“Well, what can I say?” Amelia asks, preening slightly for the camera. “I’m just the life of the party.”

“I hope it’s Covid safe, or you won’t be the life of anything,” Nana pipes up, offscreen. 

“Will Graham be coming?” Mama asks, looking concerned. Amelia checks that her door’s closed.

“No,” She says. And her disappointment is apparent.

“You can’t force him, sweetheart,” Mama says, “Processing trauma takes time. For both of you.”

“I know, I know. But there’s no ‘us’ in this situation, Mama.”

“Amelia, as a psychologist, I would find a nicer way to say this. But as your mother... I should also probably find a nicer way to say this. But you’re completely traumatised.”

“I…” Amelia sighs, “I know, Mama.”

“I wish you’d tell us what happened,” Papa says, quietly.

“I told you, she’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

“And I can’t right now, it’s not my place.”

“I know, Meels.” Mama suddenly looks up, listening to someone. “Your brother wants to talk to you, I’ll put him on, but I have to leave for work. I hope you have a lovely time at the gala, I love you lots, and we’ll talk soon.” 

Amelia watches the phone screen blur, and James’s Now Thirteen and Horrendously Prepubescent face appears on screen.

“Sup,” he says, moving away from their loungeroom. 

“What do you want?”

James closes his bedroom door behind him, “What do you think? What’s actually going on with that gala? Is it a mission?”

Amelia sighs, “Yes, it’s a mission.”

“So you’re allowed to go on missions again?” James’ eyes go wide, “Fuck yeah!”

“That’s the thing, I don’t wanna go! Gray stepped in and spoke for me and Carmen’s not giving me much of a choice. Also, stop swearing.”

“Well, maybe you need to go!” James says, “You’re gonna have to get out of your funk soon, Amelia, you’re going all ‘old grumpy ex-superhero’ on us. Was whatever you did even that bad?”   
  


“A: it was, and B: I am not! It’s about what’s best for everyone else, not just me.”

“But you were great with ACME, what’s the problem now?”

“Look, it’s complicated. I don’t wanna talk about it,” she says. Then, before James could interject, “Anyway, what’s new with you?”   
  


“Well, school doesn’t start for another two weeks,” James tells her, “But Mama’s already getting all my stuff. I had to try on the uniforms yesterday…”

“And?”

“High school uniforms fucking suck, I have to wear a  _ blazer.” _

“You get a scholarship to a fancy school, you get their ugly uniforms.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” James sighs, looking nervous, “It’s going to suck, isn’t it?”

“No, it’ll be alright, don’t sweat it,” Amelia tells him, “Just keep to yourself and don’t start shit with the seniors. Or anyone. You’ve fast tracked your way into being Mama and Papa’s favourite, you’ll be fine.”

“Are you kidding me, they fucking  _ rave _ about you.”

“What, with my 49 ATAR? I doubt it. And chill it with the language.”

“Yeah, and you’re out traveling the world, with a place to live and seemingly total financial independence. Nana brags about you to all her old people friends all the time, now.” 

“Oh, does she? That’s embarrassing.”

There’s a knock at the door. 

“I gotta go. Duty calls,” She says, “And by duty, I mean probably Gray.” 

“Tell me how the mission goes,” James says. He pushes his face into the camera. “Teeeeell meeee.”

“Yeah, yeah, now fuck off.” She hangs up.

Amelia opens the door, and it is Gray. He looks at her, then takes in her dress. 

“That’s… bright,” he said.

Seriously? Amelia has to suppress an eye roll, standing back to let him in. “It’s Kente, what the hell did you expect?”

“Oh,” Gray steps into the room, “I didn’t realise it had a name.”

“Of course it has a name.”

“Well, it's nice,” Gray says, “I just, I expected something a little different, from your formal dress.”

“Like?” he expected it to be pink, didn’t he?  _ Everyone  _ expected it to be pink.

“I don’t, a different colour, maybe?”

Yup. He did. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she huffs, “What are you doing here?”

“Right,” Amelia realises that Gray’s holding a tattered old box. “I thought you might wanna wear this to the Bolshoi.”

He opens the box and pulls something glimmery out, many small gemstones reflecting the light. It doesn’t take long for Amelia to figure out what it is. 

“Is that  _ the _ necklace?”

Gray nodded, “Would I have any  _ other  _ necklace? Try it on.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods again. Amelia unclasps the locket her parents got her for Christmas, takes the necklace and pulls each end around her neck. But for the life of her she can’t clasp it, (much of Amelia’s life has been a struggle against jewellery, and today is no different). Gray watches her try for several minutes, before sighing.

“Here,” he fixes it for her. It’s heavy, and probably way too much with the dress. One journey to her mirror proves her right, but Amelia kinda likes it, even if she knows she shouldn’t. 

“I think it looks nice,” Gray appears behind her, “You’ll do great, in Moscow, are you happy to be on missions again?”

Amelia tries to hide it, but the words ‘Moscow’ and ‘mission’ fill her with dread. She glances down. Gray stills.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“I- oh, it’s nothing.”

“Yes, it’s  _ always  _ nothing,” Gray mumbled. Amelia looked up, staring at him through the reflection. 

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, what is going on with you?” Gray asks, “Why won’t you talk to me?”

“I’m talking to you right now.”

“You know what I mean.”

“It’s nothing! You seem to have it in your head that I have some secret issues that I’m hell bent on keeping from you-”

“Because you do!” Gray snaps. 

Amelia knew she couldn’t hide it from him forever. Now there’s nothing she can say that won’t implicate her. 

“Sorry,” Gray says, after a deep breath, “Just, something’s changed, I wish you would tell me  _ what.” _

Amelia wants to curl up and hide. Instead, she lets out a breath. 

“I’ll wear the necklace,” she says, “Thank you.”

Neither of them can face the unsaid.

***

The Bolshoi Theatre takes Amelia’s breath away. Well, either that does, or it’s the fact that Amelia’s in Russia, in January, wearing a Jane Austen style dress made for an Australian formal in September. Even in a coat she’s shivering. 

But she was astounded by the Moscow light and colour. There were four ‘rings’ of Moscow, Player explained, while they were in the limo (Carmen Sandiego will never admit she has a flair for the dramatic, but she does), because it was built when it itself thought it was going to be destroyed, and what were once city walls had become roads with avenues and streets connecting them. One thing Amelia had come to appreciate about literally every other city she had visited since leaving Sydney was that  _ they,  _ generally, had an internal structure, and,  _ generally, _ weren’t just three separate cities slapped together and with the urban planning equivalent of safety pins (but try explaining  _ that _ to ACME. Amelia knew that entire city better than anyone by the time she was done with  _ them _ ).

It was a little overwhelming, even at night Moscow was full of colour. The Kremlin was close to the Bolshoi, and Amelia  _ had  _ seen pictures of the place, but the reality didn’t really compare. It looked more like some hypnotic candy video game fever-dream when it was towering over her. 

“We can visit after the mission,” Carmen had obviously noticed her staring at it, “So you can go when it’s quiet.”

But that was while they were still in the limo. Now Amelia was cold, the hem of her dress was damp from the snow, and she was struggling to keep her balance in these stupid kitten heels Mama insisted had to go with the outfit and she regrets taking with her. 

She was also wearing the necklace. 

There were tens of people filing into the theatre, gliding under the pillars and out of the snow. Everyone kinda glittery, and everyone  _ much  _ warmer than Amelia was. 

“Can we  _ please _ head inside?” She asked. 

“I told you, we’re scoping the area,” Carmen said, “They could be anywhere.”

Amelia didn’t see why they couldn’t have done that from the car. 

“I’ve got the security footage, nothing so far,” She heard from her earring. Player was connected up to her, to provide guidance, but more obviously, supervision. 

“They’re probably already inside,” Carmen said, and Amelia exhaled, pulling her coat tighter around herself. Thank fuck, she didn’t have to stay out here a moment longer.

“Let’s go,” she said, not even waiting for them to follow.

Which was a mistake, considering as she slipped in the snow a moment later. 

The foyer was packed, and thankfully, genuinely, warm. Amelia wasn’t sure if she remembered what warm felt like. Her coat had been given to the coat check and her dress was quickly drying. Nerves were starting to set in, this was a crowded place with judgemental people, and she was supposed to track down a bunch of strangers. And if she screwed it up Carmen Sandiego would have her head. So, really, no pressure.

She didn’t realise she was playing with the necklace until she caught the glimmer of it in her eye. It made her think of Gray, which just made her wish he was here. This would’ve been so much more bearable if he was. It was what made being trapped in the house for two months straight bearable, after all. 

“Okay, let’s split up,” Carmen said, “Amelia, you stay with Ivy. Tell Player if you see anything.”

“What would ‘anything’ look like?” Amelia asked. 

“Anything that looks like VILE’s planning something. You’ll have Ivy and Player to help.”

Ivy smiled warmly at her, and after making their goodbyes to each other, the two of them left the group. 

“Okay, so Carmen’s being vague.” Amelia said, once they were out of earshot. Ivy linked arms with her. “Is there something going on that I’m not being told?”   
  


“No, actually,” Ivy replied, “That’s the thing, she doesn’t know. That’s why she’s so worried, she can’t figure out what VILE wants here, and that never means anything good.”

“Carmen’s worried? She does  _ not _ look worried.”

“She tries to hide it, but I know our Carmen better than anyone. She’s worried.”

Amelia looked at her, “You don’t seem to be.”

Ivy grinned, “It’s Carmen Sandiego and Co. No matter what happens, we always figure it out. Every mission I’ve been with her on, we’ve never lost once.”

A memory of trying to take on a woman nearly double Amelia’s size challenges that assumption. 

“You did lose, once,” she says, quietly. Ivy tightens the arm linked with Amelia’s.

“Amelia,” her voice is kind, but very firm, “You gotta move on from that. It’s… not as much your fault as Carmen made it out to be.”

“So why did she threaten to never let me leave the house again if I screwed up tonight?”

Ivy paused. 

“What happened to Gray really spooked her.” She said, eventually. “I think it was the first time Carm had ever  _ really _ had to think about the danger she was putting us in. She lashed out.”

“On me.” 

“On you.”

“Well, anyway,” A voice close to her ear says, “We’re on the lookout for anyone acting suspiciously, or a known operative.”

Amelia was  _ millimetres _ from unleashing an extreme amount of expletives in high Russian society, but she stopped herself. Not that they’d probably understand “maple shitting fucking lovechild of Chris McLean and Big Brother.” At least, Amelia hoped not..

“Player!” she demands, in a whisper, “Were you listening that whole time?”

“Ok, in my defense,” Player says, “I was trying not to listen. But Carmen told me I had to keep an eye - and ear - on you at all times.”

Oh, of course she did. Amelia didn’t even know why she was surprised, Carmen quite literally explained this to her. Multiple times. 

“Ok, ok, fine. But what does a VILE operative even look like? Should I be on the lookout for nefarious brooding? Sudden ominous background music when they appear? Matching tattoos?”

“It’ll probably be someone I’ll be able to recognise,” Ivy said, “For an organisation with a bajillion agents, they really seem to cycle through, like, twelve. And if I can’t, Carm will.” 

They spent the next twenty minutes searching through the crowd, but there was nothing Amelia or Ivy deemed even remotely out of the ordinary. Though it was a struggle to avoid being caught too deep in the mingling of the crowd. Amelia had to switch languages just to shake one of them (some young kid with a gap in his front teeth) off of her. 

But it was turning up nothing. Amelia didn’t really know what she expected. Like Carmen would  _ actually _ trust her with something important.

Though, there were a pair of large, shut doors, with warm yellow light creeping out beneath them that were calling to her. They were the types of doors that led to a fantastical parallel world, or, more importantly, a potential VILE operation. 

Ivy didn’t seem to find much interest in them. There was a nagging sense in Amelia’s gut, and even though she’d spent the past two months trying to get rid of it, it was now becoming impossible to ignore. Amelia Diallo was falling back into old habits. Who was she going to get killed this time? 

“Hey, what’s behind that door?” She asked. Ivy shrugged.

“That’d be the main theatre,” Player told her, “What the Bolshoi’s famous for. They usually let people in for galas, though. It’s where their famous chandelier is.”

“They have a famous chandelier?” Were Russians just... like that? “Not important right now, would those doors be unlocked, do you reckon?”

“Why?”

“Curiosity. Maybe we should check.”

“Wait, Amelia, Carmen told you not to do anything rash,” Player said. And by ‘anything rash,’ he meant anything. At all.

“I know, I know. I’m just thinking; what if VILE was getting in through the theatre? I mean, if no one’s in there. Maybe send Carmen in to have a look?”

“Actually,” Ivy said, “We can go. It’s no problem if I’m with you, right?”

“Did you hear that, Player? Ivy will go with me to make sure I don’t get in trouble,” She sounds like a child trying to plan a sleepover. Being Babysat sucks.

“Well, that could be useful. As long as you don’t leave Ivy’s side…”

“Perfect. Then let’s go.”

She grins at Ivy, who smiles back, and they head towards the doors. They’re large, but if her and Ivy are quick about it, they can get inside without too much scrutiny. Confidence was key, that’s what Gray always told her. Nobody would question you if you looked like you knew what you were doing.

Ivy looks around and tries the door. Amelia tries to look like she was just standing there, in front of the door. That someone was trying to get into. And she couldn’t see any of it. But she glances, out of the corner of her eye, to see Ivy, innocuously using all her strength to push the door open. And it gives, Ivy slips through the smallest gap she could, and beckons for Amelia to follow. 

It is lit, but dimly, and it’s the grandest thing Amelia has ever seen. She feels tiny, surrounded by the rising levels of boxes in red velvet, and the white and gold decal on the roof surrounding the Apparently Famous Chandelier, all so massive and so ornate. 

It was something straight out of the period dramas Mama and Nana loved to watch, and it was completely empty. The lighting was low, casting shadows over everything and giving the already dramatic room even more character. If those period dramas were anything to go by, Amelia was about to get absolutely  _ railed. _ With fancy background music and everything. 

“Nobody’s here,” Ivy said, and her voice echoed through the room. It was creepy in all the right ways. This was the type of thing Amelia missed about missions. 

A voice that Amelia didn’t recognise said something that Amelia didn’t recognise, right behind her. 

And that was what she didn’t miss about missions. 

She squealed, and whipped around.

The woman who spoke was… a dancer. In a long tutu and a veil covering her face. Amelia hadn’t realised that there even  _ were _ dancers at this gala. But it was the Bolshoi, even Amelia knew of it, there  _ had _ to be dancers. 

“She told you you’re wearing a pretty necklace,” Player explained, “Here, repeat after me: ‘Vy ochen dabry.’

“Vy ochen dabry?” Amelia didn’t sound remotely confident. But the dancer didn’t seem to mind, replying in Russian anyway.

“She’s wondering where you got it.”

“It was a gift. Uh, I mean, um,”

Player steps in for her, and guides her through it. The woman pauses, then says something else.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Player translates, “The theatre’s closed.”

“Oh… uh…”

The dancer continued speaking.

“But…” Player pauses, “She gets fans around here a lot. If the two of you want, she can show you around backstage. She has the time to.” 

Amelia and Ivy looked at each other, unsure.

“I’d be wary of this lady,” Player says, “She seems a little quick to try and isolate us. But that might mean we could get some clues backstage.”

“Ivy?” Amelia murmurs, barely moving her lips. “There could be something backstage.”

“What if I go, and you stay,” Ivy replied, “Just in case it’s a trap.”

“Didn’t Carmen-”

“She’d be more upset if I walked you into an ambush.”

Amelia highly doubts that, but anyway, “I’ll wait here, and get Carmen at any trouble. Player, what should I say?”

With Player’s guidance, Amelia communicated this to the dancer, who nodded and walked down the aisle, beckoning for Ivy to follow. With one last look at Amelia, Ivy followed her, and they climbed onto the stage, before disappearing to the side of it.

And the waiting began.   
  


Amelia’s worry grew as each minute passed, and even though she had Player to keep her company, around the thirty minute mark, he was starting to sound concerned, too.

“Should I go-”

“No,” Player said, “But I think I should call Carmen.”

“Do you have to?” She asks it before she can stop herself, “I mean - sorry - I -”

“I’ll explain what happened,” Player tells her, “But Ivy could be in danger.”

“I know.”

And just when it couldn’t get any worse, the lights go out. The lights go out! Oh, of  _ course _ they do! It’s one of those moments where Amelia’s torn between cowering in fear and getting ready to fight God for putting her in this mess. God, or Gray. 

“Hello?” She calls out, just in case, anyway, “What happened to the lights? Is everything okay?”

The dancer wouldn’t even be able to understand her anyway, “Ivy? Ivy? Are you there? Please, answer me, what’s going on?

A door opens distantly. There’s footsteps, and the distinct sound of a zipline. 

Amelia hears a figure land just two metres behind her. It smells of Carmen’s perfume. 

“Carmen?”   
  


“Amelia? Player told me Ivy left with a strange woman and hasn’t come back.”

Amelia just nods, remembering that she’s horrendous at explaining things but forgetting that Carmen can’t see her head movements. She feels the fabric of Carmen’s coat as she pushes past her, and her shift of weight as she’s forced to the side. She falls onto a chair with a grunt of pain.

“Sorry.” Carmen says, as Amelia rights herself. “But we need to go backstage and find her.”

The stage lights turn on.

“Oh, nevermind,” Carmen mutters, “VILE Variation, first suite, I guess.”

The veiled woman was standing on the stage. Amelia wouldn’t see her face, but it felt like her eyes were boring into her and Carmen both. 

“Carmen Sandiego,” She says, and Amelia’s not too surprised to hear her speaking English, but she is surprised by the accent. It was strange to hear it again, it set off alarm bells in Amelia’s mind. Could  _ this _ be who she thinks it is? “So glad you could make it for my debut.”

“I’d throw you a rose if I had one,” Carmen replies, “Apologies, though, if I don’t request an encore. I’d prefer to keep these theatrics to a one-act production.”

“How about a pas-de-deux, then? One in your honour;  _ Carmen, _ final scene? Can’t say I’ve done it before, but I’d make a good Don José.”

“What does that even mean?” Amelia asks, somehow forgetting her fear. Instead, it comes out strong. She feels like Gray, for just a moment.

“It means, whoever the fuck you are,” The woman said, “That I’m going to slit Carmen Sandiego’s fucking throat.”

She reaches for the veil and the glint of light against pale blonde hair confirms Amelia’s worse suspicions. Amelia’s never been good with faces, and had never heard either Gray’s friends speak, but she recognises that hair, from the picture she used to see on Gray’s bedside table. That made its final home crumpled and torn in his bin. She knows it too well. 

“Amelia, get out of here,” Carmen said, her voice suddenly panicked, “I’ll be fine, just run!”

But at the moment Matt lunges at Carmen, a hand covers Amelia’s mouth. Someone yanks her backwards, and Amelia falls.


	2. Enter Amelia, the Last Sailor Guardian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia has to act on her own terms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I have edited this more? Yes.
> 
> Could I bear to look at this 5000 word monstrosity that I haven't been away from for four days straight anymore? No.
> 
> Anyway enjoy.

Amelia can’t see. 

She’s not blindfolded, but it’s so dark that doesn’t matter. But she can’t speak, her mouth is so tightly held together it stings when she tries to exhale. It pulls at her hair where the duct tape had been wrapped around it, everytime she tries to move her head she’s in pain.

She’d tried to fight them. She did. She tried and tried and she was still here, with someone else’s skin under her nails and duct tape wound up to her elbows and a numb shoulder where they shoved her against the wall to wind it. She tried to fight them and it did nothing, absolutely fucking nothing, even after all her training, Amelia was useless. Completely useless. And now she was here.

Amelia could barely breathe, her hands were immovable and her ankles were bound, her feet were numb from when she’d been forced to sit on her heels. Oh, Amelia’s seen enough art of this pose to know, out of all the things, out of all the fucking things, she’s been captured by a BDSM fanatic! She can’t help but laugh and it hurts so bad she begins to sob, which only makes it hurt worse.

But it does get someone’s attention.

“Amelia!” Player cries, “Amelia, thank God, are you okay?”

Amelia can’t exactly reply, all that comes out is a muffled noise.

“Wait, can you speak? Have you been gagged?”   
  


Player’s stating the obvious but Amelia’s too panicked to care. She makes a noise of affirmation.

“Your hands, are your hands bound? Can you move?” Player’s stumbling over his words with the stress of it. “Wait… uh… one ‘mmph’ for yes, two for no, okay?”

Amelia mmphs once, as quietly as she can. She doesn’t know where she is but she can hear distant footsteps and she doesn’t know if they’re friendly or not.

“Uh, shit, um, okay, do you remember what Carmen taught you? Uh, arms ups, hands apart, swing down, right? Do you have something you could use as a wedge, maybe?”

And through the terror currently controlling her, Amelia thinks to the kitten heels her Mama made her wear and relief pours through her. Trying to line her wrists to the heel through her dress, she lifts her arms and slams them down, her hands as far apart as she can get them. Her shoulders ache with the effort, her injured one practically screaming in pain, but she feels just the slightest,  _ slightest  _ shift as her wrists come free.

“Did you do it?” Player asked. 

Amelia makes a frustrated noise.

“Right, sorry.”

And Amelia gets to work.

By the time Amelia can get the slightest movement in her forearms tears are pouring down her face. She pulls and pulls and pulls relentlessly and her skin is achingly raw, but she has to continue. She’s pretty sure her shoulders swollen to a dangerous point, and she can barely feel either of them. 

She tugs, ignoring the sting. She tugs because she’s growing desperate and there’s nothing more she can do. She tugs and tugs and tugs and  _ tugs  _ and with one final, painful pull her arms break apart. They fall to her side. 

Amelia is relieved for one millisecond, and then her fear floods in tenfold, because it’s about to get so,  _ so,  _ much worse. 

She still reaches for the duct tape over her mouth with an almost crazed frenzy, clawing at it to get off. Her nails gouge her skin but eventually she’s able to find some room to tug and she does. The pain is almost unbearable. She’s crying, again, small pained whimpery sobs. She tries to keep it quiet.

“Amelia?” Player asks it urgently. Amelia grits her teeth hard enough to break, and pulls the duct tape down as hard as she can go. It breaks apart.

“Player?” She barely whispers it. There’s still duct tape over her hair but she is  _ not _ even  _ trying _ that. “Player, can you hear me?”

“Amelia, are you okay. Are you hurt?”

“I’m… I’m… I…” Amelia’s gasping, “Player, please get me out of here, I can’t- I can’t take this, Player. please, help me! Help me, I can’t- I can’t- I can’t I can’t-”

“Amelia, you need to calm-”

“How? Please, please just  _ help me!  _ Help me, get me out, I don’t know what to do - just help! Help me!”

“Take some deep breaths- oh, no.”

Amelia’s starting to hyperventilate, and she knows she needs to get a grip on herself but she can’t control the way her chest contracts.

“Okay, I need you to stay with us- wait. Amelia, wait, just hold on a minute,” Player says, “I have an idea, I just need you to hold on.”

Amelia doesn’t know what else she can do. She falls from where she was sitting on her heels to the floor and her feet ache as the blood rushes back into them. The shaking’s uncontrollable as she cries.

“Amelia!” She hears, from her earring. But the voice isn’t Player’s. The shock’s enough to stop her tears. 

“Gray?”

“What’s going on, are you okay, are you hurt?” Amelia can’t even tell if she’s happy to hear him. Because now it’s just reminding her that this is not an isolated incident, Amelia’s had a history of getting herself into these situations. She should’ve known better than to think this would be different. 

“I- I…” All words have failed her. What could she even say to explain it? It brought her back to the night Gray had been taken, to when Carmen had explained to her exactly what had happened and exactly what Amelia had done. When it felt like the world had come to make mincemeat out of Amelia Diallo, and she deserved it.

“I don’t know where I am, Gray,” Is what she says instead, “Someone, someone took me, and M- an operative attacked Carmen and I don’t know what’s happened to her, or to anyone and I just want someone to come and get me out of this mess, Gray, please, just help me.”

“Amelia, I can’t save you. You have to get out of this yourself-”

“I can’t!” Amelia quickly covers her mouth. “I can’t, please, there’s nothing I can do…”

“Nothing?” Gray asks, “Were you not the ACME agent who managed to play double agent so well you managed to trick both them _ and _ Player? Are you not the reason we started working with Carmen in the first place? Do you really think that-”

“And was I not the reason you were tortured for two days straight?”

Amelia Diallo has never, in her life, heard a silence so loud.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Gray asked, and he just sounded so sad, “That’s why you’ve been so distant, that’s why you won’t…”

“I can’t… I can’t do this, Gray. I’m not the girl you think I am. I’m not… Carmen’s right. I can’t be trusted to do this on my own. I never could be.” 

“I’ve never met a single person who’s assumed anything about you and been right about it,” Gray said, “But please, trust me when I say that-”

“Gray, please, don’t,” Amelia whispers, “Please, just, don’t start, I know what you’re gonna say and just… don’t. Just... accept it.”

There was silence over the line. 

“Accept what?” Gray asked, quietly, “Amelia, say it. I need you to say it. Accept what?”

“I’m… I’m the reason you can’t come on missions, Gray. I’m the reason you get nightmares, and you sometimes need to be reminded what day it is. It’s all… my fault.”

“Amelia…”

“I told you not to.”

“Okay, you know what? Fine,” Gray said, “Even though none of this ever would’ve happened had Carmen just told me the truth from the get go… she kept us away from Korea for a reason and you should’ve listened to that. Okay, it is your fault.”

Amelia has to screw her eyes tight.

“Amelia, I don’t care. I love you, and I’d still trust you with my life regardless.”

What?

“Seriously? In spite of… everything?” She doesn’t have a choice but to whisper, but Amelia doesn’t actually know if she could speak any louder. 

“In spite of it. And every single time I’ve doubted you, you’ve proved me wrong in spades. Try extending that courtesy to yourself.”

If Amelia knows anything, she knows that Graham Marks is the best liar she’s ever met, and ever will meet. So she doesn’t know why she believes him, when she has no proof and no reason to do it. She just does. Her breathing becomes  _ slightly _ more manageable.

“But-”

“Amelia,” Gray said, “Deal with the spider.”

She can’t help but laugh. She’s still terrified, but there is a glimmer of hope in there. 

“So how am I supposed to get out of here? I don’t even know where here is.”

“Have you left the Bolshoi?”

“No, but I don’t know where I am  _ inside _ of that,” she murmured, “I was more caught up trying to fight them off than watching where I was going.”

“Well, there’s gotta be people around, call for help.”

“No, there could still be operatives around - wait,” Amelia began peeling off the duct tape around her ankles (it hurt significantly less, but it still hurt), “I think I have an idea.”

She could practically hear Gray’s smile, “Then I’ll leave you to it.”

Her legs free, Amelia unclasped her necklace and took her shoes off (she highly doubted that when Mama insisted she take them, she meant for  _ this _ purpose), Wrapping the necklace around her knuckles and holding the front of the heel in her other hand, she stood up, searching for the door. And once she found it, Amelia was ready. 

“Let me out!” She screamed, slamming against the door with all her strength, “Let me out of here!” She punctuated each word with a hit from her uninjured shoulder, her hands full with  _ very  _ impromptu weaponry.

Amelia knew how much noise she was making, that was rather the intention, because footsteps came quickly towards the door.

“If you don’t find it within yourself to shut the fuck up, I swear…” A man’s voice told her. 

“What, what the fuck are you gonna do, bitch?” She yelled, “Untie me and get me the fuck out of here, you piece of shit!”

“Well, if you want your friends to stay unharmed, I’d advise-”

“Joke’s on you, I don’t have friends!” Amelia… didn’t actually know what she was quite saying. All that mattered was that she was saying it with volume. “And I can scream a lot louder than this, mate, so do you  _ really _ want to test me?”

“Shut-”

Amelia started to scream. Full on, high pitched screaming. It was a great time. 

“You know what? Fine!”

Amelia barely had a moment to act, but she took her chance. She pushed herself to the side of the door the moment it burst open, keeping herself out of her assailant’s direct line of sight. 

And she didn’t care for who it was. She punched him in the throat with a necklace-wrapped fist. He gasped, hitting his head on the doorframe, staggering out of the room. Amelia didn’t give him a moment to recover. She tossed her shoe so she was grabbing it by the heel and struck him once, twice, across the face. With the last hit he stumbled back, hit his head against the wall. And slid down it, unmoving. 

Amelia let out a shaky breath, the shoe falling from her hand. There was still duct tape on her arms, it was over, though. She had done it.

“Gray? I’m out. I did it.”

Gray let out a sigh of relief that turned into a breathless laugh, “Seriously? What did I tell you?”

“Yeah! Yeah… I just… holy shit, I just king-hit a guy a foot taller than me. With a  _ shoe.” _

“I don’t think it counts as king-hitting if you use a weapon. Also, was I really tortured for two days? I don’t remember it being that long.”

“Well, you were gone for three days, but Carmen told me they got you back after the second. I don’t know the exact time-frame of it.”

“Can we save this conversation for a later date,” Player cut it, “Zack and Ivy have been captured too, and I can’t get a hold of Carmen.”

“Right,” Gray said, “Sorry. Look, I’d like to stay with you until you get out, but there’s some stuff I have to handle down my end. Just, Amelia, promise me you’ll get home in one piece. Zack and Ivy too.”

“I have no intention of doing otherwise,” Amelia said, “I’ll see you soon, Gray. Promise.”

“I’ll be holding you to that.”

“I know.”

“Hey,” Player said, once Gray was gone, “That was a good plan, but could you give a guy a word of warning next time? I wasn’t exactly prepared for someone to start screaming in my ear.”

“Sorry,” Amelia looked down at the man she had just knocked out. There was blood trickling down his face from where her shoe had cut his skin. He had dark curly hair, and for the second time tonight, it clicked. 

“Hey, Player,” She asked, “Is Gray still there?”   
  


“No, he’s gone. Why?” Player asked.

“Because I just beat up Gray’s ex-best friend with the necklace he gave me and a  _ shoe.” _

Player paused, “Wait, which one?”

“Toby. Matt’s the one who attacked Carmen,” Amelia gave the man in question an extra kick for good measure. And for being a traitorous little fuckwad who sold out her best friend. 

“Now,” she said, straightening up, “Can you tell me where Zack and Ivy are? Are they together?”   
  


“I don’t know if they’re with it, but Zack’s phone’s not too far from here. Just take the next right and then two lefts.”

Amelia followed his directions. She had no clue where she was, she might’ve even been backstage, her surroundings were sparse. Note to self, she thought: When being dragged away by various VILE agents, make sure to keep track of where they were going. 

Once she reached the final corner, Amelia looked around it. The corridor was empty.

“There’s no-one here…”

“Well, there should be,” Player said, “Be careful, this could be a trap.” 

Amelia crept down the hallway, looking around. She reached the end with no redhead to show for it. The hairs on the back of her neck would’ve stood up if they weren’t duct taped down. 

And then she was pinned against a wall.   
  


“What the-”

“Amelia!” Amelia was quickly let go of, only to be tightly hugged, a moment later, “Are you okay?”

She blinked. It was Ivy, looking messed up, but not badly injured.    
  


“I’m fine, are you? Wait, what are you doing here?”   
  


“VILE locked us in here, we broke out, but the operative’s gone and he could be coming back, quick, get-”

“Amelia, is that you?” A second voice asked. 

“Zack?”   
  


“He’s hurt,” Ivy said, standing back to let Amelia see Zack, who was staggering, holding his arm. 

“That Russian kid…” he said, his skin sickly pale and grey tinged, “I think it’s… fuck.” His eyes were red rimmed.

“Russian kid?” 

“There’s three operatives here,” Ivy said, “There was a tall one who was guarding us, I don’t know where he’s gone but he could be coming back, we need to get out of-”   
  


“Oh, him?,” Amelia said, “Yeah, he’s probably not gonna bother us any more. I hit him with a shoe and it knocked him out.”

The other two stared at her.

“You did  _ what?” _ Ivy asked, incredulous.

“Wicked cool…” Zack said, blearily. 

“Yeah, it’s a long story, but what happened to Carmen? Player lost contact with her.”

“Last time I saw her, she was fighting that girl…” Ivy said. 

“And we need to stop her, we need to get to Carmen.”

“No,” Player said, “Carmen will be fine on her own. You guys need to get Zack out of here.”

Amelia at Zack, who was struggling to stand, to Ivy, who was looking paler than Amelia had ever seen her. There was one thing she knew at this point: she was in no place to be making any sort of calls on anything. Carmen didn’t trust her for a reason and Amelia wholeheartedly agreed. But the other thing she knew was that more people she loved were going to get hurt unless someone did  _ something, _ and if Amelia would rather die than let that happen again.    
  


“Player, tell me we have a getaway vehicle.”

“The car’s three streets away.”

“Okay: Ivy, take Zack and get out of here. I’m gonna go find Carmen.”

“What? No!” Player and Ivy said, almost in unison.   
  


“She doesn’t have any way of knowing what’s going on. Someone needs to go get her.”

“Amelia, I can’t put you in a position like that,” Player said.

“Do we have a choice? Zack’s hurt, Ivy need’s to get him out, and need I remind you, we are in a public place, if Carmen hasn’t already gotten the attention of security it won’t be long before she does, and if she doesn’t know where any of us are she’s screwed, so we can either waste our time arguing about the possibilities or we can actually help her and get the fuck out of here!”

Amelia even surprised herself with her outburst. Nobody said anything. 

“Now,” she said, “Player, I need you to give Zack and Ivy directions out of here, and get me to the main theatre. I don’t know if Carmen’s still in there but there’s only one way to find out. Ivy, Zack, you need to get as far as you can away from the Bolshoi as you can while staying in Moscow. Don’t worry about us, we’ll find our own way out, just focus on what you need to do. We’ll call you when it’s safe to come get us. Understand?”

Zack and Ivy looked at each other, then back to her.

“Amelia, Carm can hold her own in a fight, but you?”

But Amelia wasn’t leaving room for argument, she was already gone.

***   
  


Having Player guide her back to the theater was complicated by the fact he had to guide Zack and Ivy out of it. There were other people still about, somehow none of the nights events had alerted them, but Amelia was getting a lot of weird looks (in their defense, she  _ was  _ still covered in at least half a roll of duct tape.)

“Uh, Amelia?” Player said, “Security’s been alerted, they’re blocking the doors.”

“Shit.”

“I’ll get you to a more isolated entrance.”

Again, Amelia moved through the theater, only this time she was hyperaware of the attention she was getting. When she finally reached the door, two theater workers were placed in front of it.

“Player, I’m assuming you can get these guys away long enough for me to get in?”

“On it.”

The two suddenly reached for the walkie-talkies, and after a ten second communication, hurried off, barely sparing Amelia a second glance. 

“Okay, keep them away long enough for me to pick the lock.” 

Carmen had given the lockpick to her with the caveat that Amelia was not to use it unless given  _ express permission _ (emphasised in just that way). She’d never been in a position where she’d actually had to use it before, but Gray had taken some time in her two month exile to teach her, and he wasn’t satisfied until she was as good as he was. He’d taught her a lot of things, during that time (Amelia reckoned he was just trying to make her feel better, but he  _ did _ have some important skills and she loved spending time with him, so she didn’t complain.)

Still, her nerves were getting the better of her. Her hands were slipping and she had to constantly keep an eye out for other people. By the time she heard the final, tiny click of the last slide being pushed into the place, she knew one thing: Amelia Diallo was tempting fate. 

She found herself in the grandest box in the entire theater. It was just above the main doors, directly parallel to the stage. But Amelia didn’t have much time to take it in, because, in the middle of the aisle, two security guards were standing. Their weapons pointing directly at Carmen. Who was slowly began to kneel down, hands raised. 

Amelia was only aware of one thing: Carmen Sandiego may have qualms about hurting innocent security personnel, but when it came down to it, Amelia Diallo sure as hell did not. Hoping her aim was as good as she was thinking it was, she threw that stupid kitten heel one of their heads.

She would’ve liked to say that it hit its target square, effectively knocking them out and giving Carmen means to escape. It did not do that. Instead, it barely clipped the woman’s shoulders, landing with a muffled  _ thlump _ between the two guards.

But it did do what Amelia needed it to do. Because as they looked down at it, surprised, Carmen was given the window she needed to attack. She leapt up and before Amelia could even blink she had one guard knocked out over the row of seats and another pinned to the floor, who she knocked out with one quick hit.

Carmen rises slowly, and even from where she’s standing, Amelia can see her confusion.

“Carmen!” She calls out, “Carmen, it’s me!” 

She vaults over the front of the box with way less grace than she wishes. Carmen stares at her. 

“Amelia?” Her voice was incredibly croaky and there was a cut tracing from her jawline to her cheek. 

“Hi,” Amelia stands up, fixing her dress. She should probably say something more… substantial.

“What are you doing here? How did you even… how much duct tape did they  _ use _ on you?”

“A lot.” Amelia doesn’t bring up the fifteen agonising minutes she spent getting out of it. “Player told me you two lost contact.”

“Yeah, in the fight. Where’s Zack and Ivy, did you find them?”

“Oh, they’re long gone.” Amelia says, without thinking. Carmen’s eyes go wide. 

“As in left, with a car,” she explains, quickly, “They escaped. They’re fine, well, Zack’s not, he’s very much not fine, but Ivy’s still kicking.”

“What do you mean, not fine?” 

“Well, he’s not  _ dead.”  _

Yes,  _ that’s _ the perfect thing to say. Amelia’s nailing this! 

“I mean, he’s hurt his arm. I didn’t get a look at it but I think it’s broken. I told them both to get out of here, but I wanted to make sure you knew what was going on.”   
  


“Oh,” Carmen’s face relaxes, “You could’ve just opened with that.”

Amelia is well aware.

“Are the security guards okay?” She asked, looking to change the subject, “And what happened to Matt?”

“I didn’t want to have to hurt them,” Carmen said, “But I couldn’t handle both Matt and getting away.” 

Amelia noticed, as Carmen knelt down to check on the guards, the bruises around her neck. 

“And Matt?”   
  


“She’s backstage. I… she got pushed back into some glass. It was part of a set piece, I think.”

Amelia did  _ not _ want to be the one to say it. But as much as she was content to leave Matt to rot and get on with her life, the idea of leaving a dead body behind didn’t sit well with her. 

“We need to go check on her.”

Carmen sighed, “Yes,” she said, eventually, “We do.”

Amelia let Carmen lead the way. But once she saw the blood she didn’t need much guidance. 

“Holy fuck.”

If it was any consolation, none of the cuts were deep. And there weren’t any near a vital organ, if Amelia could tell through all the stained fabric. But there were just so many of them, down her arms and hands, some with glass still in them. And judging by the splatters of blood on the floor. it looked like Matt had been moving around a lot before she was finally out of commission.

“She tried to keep fighting me,” Carmen said, gesturing to the cut on her face, “And if she hadn’t collapsed…”

“Is she gonna be okay?” Amelia wasn’t about to go to emergency measures for this woman, Matt had made her bed, and now she had to sleep in it. But she also wasn’t just about to let anyone die, either, not if she could help it. Matt’s breathing didn’t seem too laboured or too slow, but, still, Amelia was unsure.

“I don’t think she’s in any immediate danger,” Carmen said, “But she can’t stay here for too long.”

“And we need to get out of here,” Amelia said, “We can’t just wait for someone to come get her.”

Carmen looked uncomfortable.

“Look, she’s not the only operative here tonight, either security will find her or one of VILE will. But  _ we _ need to go.”

Carmen sighed, and nodded. The two of them moved back to the main theater. 

“Could you ask Player to get us a way out of here?” Carmen asked.

Amelia pulled her earring out, and handed it to her, “It’d probably be better if you talk to him directly from here.”

Carmen smiled, and put the earring in.

“Player?” she asked, “Yes, I’m fine. Could you get us the quietest route out of here?

She paused, then nodded, reaching for the grappling gun attached to the inner hem of her dress. 

“Hold onto me. Tight,” She said, pulling Amelia closer to her, before launching the two of them up. Amelia, her arms wrapped tightly around Carmen and close enough to be able to figure what type of conditioner she uses, has read enough fanfiction to know where this is going. She decides she’s not going to have that conversation right now.

They land in a box in the highest level of the theater, and after a quick check around the doors, leave. There’s a window to their left, which Carmen quickly opens. 

“Wait… we’re not jumping out of a window, are we?” Amelia asks, because that was not how she expected this night to go. But then again, she didn’t expect to be tied up, gagged, and shoved in some sort of Russian storage closet, so who is she to complain? 

“No,” Carmen said, “We’re jumping onto the roof. Then we’re abseiling off of that.”

Oh. Right. This might as well happen. 

The window is wide enough for both of them to climb out of, but not much wider than that. Amelia squeezes through, and she’s back in the frigid Moscow night, only this time, on freezing stone with no coat and no shoes. It immediately steals the breath from her lungs, she gasps.

“Come on,” Carmen says, pulling her along, “We don’t have that much time.” 

Amelia doesn’t want to do this. Because when Carmen again pulls her close, Amelia realises that one of the reasons she was so okay with Carmen’s mistrust of her was because the feeling was completely mutual. She admires Carmen, respects Carmen, would follow where she leads, but as they descend down the side of the building, she realises that she doesn’t actually trust the woman holding her within an inch of her life. 

Maybe the months of Carmen’s resentment towards her had taken more of a toll than she’d expected. The pair hit the ground.

“Let’s get out of here, they’ll still be looking for us,” Carmen told her. Amelia simply followed along.

***

Amelia Diallo, two months off her twentieth birthday and one year out of her family home, knows a myriad of things about herself. There is one of these things that is pertinent to this situation.

  1. She’s got fucking frostbite.



“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t have shoes?”   
  


They’re sitting on a park bench, as far away from the Bolshoi as they could get before Amelia succumbed to the cold, waiting for Zack and Ivy to come and get them. Carmen was making the slow, but painful endeavor of picking the last of the duct tape from Amelia’s skin.

“I quite literally threw one in your direction, did you expect them to just fly back onto my feet?”

Carmen laughs, “No need to get snarky.”

“You’re ripping duct tape off my skin, I’m not exactly  _ chipper.” _

Carmen yanks another piece off her arm, “Sorry, but it has to be done.”

Amelia tears up, but steels herself. She’s nineteen years old, as much as she doesn’t want to, she needs to act like an adult. She needs to keep it in, keep it under control.

“You handled yourself really well tonight, I’m impressed,” Carmen says, picking at another piece.

“See, I’m not completely horrible.”

“I never thought you were horrible!” 

“No, you only thought I was - what was it, again?” Amelia asked, “Willing to sacrifice everything you stood for for my own personal gain?”

Carmen stilled. 

“Amelia, you have to understand why I-”

“Carmen, when I said I got it, I got it. I do. I’m not trying to defend myself. All… all I want you to know was that Gray was telling the truth, when he asked you to let me on the mission. I never intended anything to go as far as it did. All I wanted was to hang out in a cool city with a friend, just to prove I could... and the next thing I knew...”

“Wait, you heard that conversation between me and Gray?”

“I did. We’re not all like you, Carmen. We can’t all just keep control of every single situation we’re in. I just… one moment everything was fine, and the next, I’d nearly killed one of my best friends. I didn’t even know what was happening.”

She hadn’t meant to say all that. Not to Carmen, of all people. A hand was placed on her shoulder, startlingly and painfully warm against her skin.

“You really think I’m in control of every situation I’m in?”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Amelia sounds a little petulant, “You’re amazing.”

“Things haven’t always worked out for me either, Amelia. But, that’s not what I’m trying to say right now. You… you really surprised me tonight.”

“Were you really thinking that low of me? I barely did anything.”

Carmen sighed, “I underestimated you. You proved me wrong.”   
  


Amelia can’t help but laugh. 

“I’ve been told I do that a lot,” she says.

“Well, you’ve made me reconsider my stance on trusting you. You really showed that you were-”

“No.”

Carmen stops, “What?”

“No.” Amelia’s barely sure of what she’s saying. Adrenaline is coursing through her but she’s showing none of it. Gray would be so proud of her. “You can’t just give me shit for two months straight and then change your mind in  _ one night. _ That’s not how this works.”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t think.”

“Then don’t tell me lies.”

The silence between them is  _ extremely  _ pointed. Carmen’s the first to break it.

“Okay, fine,” she says, “You… haven’t earned my trust. It’s too early for that. But you have - at least - earned my respect.”

Carmen doesn’t scare Amelia as much as she should, anymore, with her intimidating prettiness and intimidating competence. What that says about her, Amelia doesn’t know, but she does know that it’s true.

“Thank you.” She turns to face Carmen, and extends her hand. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Carmen blinks, her eyes widening slightly, then she smiles, and takes it.

They shake on it.

“Now,” Carmen’s hands go to the duct tape still wrapped around the back of Amelia’s head, “We better get this over with.”

Amelia did cry, this time. She couldn’t stop herself. 

***

Gray and Shadowsan looked up the moment the door opened. They were both sitting on the couch and Amelia realised, with a pang of sympathy, that they’d been waiting for them to get back. She knows the feeling all too well.

But for someone so insistent that she was capable of handling herself, Gray looked  _ awfully _ relieved to see her.

“You did it…” he said, standing up.

She smiled, “I mean, you were there, you kind of heard it.”

Gray closes his eyes and exhales, slowly. But he’s trying not to smile. Amelia can’t help but run to him. And he picks her up with ease, holding her close. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs.

“Well, I mean, you should be,” she tells him.

He smacks her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I write a lot of emotional scenes between characters for someone who despises writing emotional scenes between characters.
> 
> Anyway I post art on occasion on Tumblr! My url's luciformia!


	3. In Which Matt Gets Glass Pulled Out of Her

It’s the pieces in Matt’s fingers that hurt the most to get out. Toby’s trying to be as careful as he can but he’s so furious that it’s affecting his work. She doesn’t even want him touching her, but she doesn’t really have a choice. They’re on a plane back to Auckland, to the apartment they’d  _ said _ they requested for the Sandiego mission. Matt had actually requested it to get away from her classmates. There’s only so much pity she can bear.

Toby pulls another piece out and it stings like all hell. Matt barely feels it. 

“Could’ve torn something, you’re lucky,” he mumbles. 

It means nothing to her. Not a lot of what Toby says means anything to her anymore. It feels like he’s talking to her through glass. Everything he says is so mired in his fear that he’s going to set her off. Matt just loves being treated like a time bomb. 

“So, what now?” Kolya asks, “Sandiego got away, we failed.”

The reminder enrages her.

“No fucking thanks to you two,” she snaps, “What the fuck were you even doing, are you completely  _ useless?” _

Kolya jumps, and recoils, “I… I…”

Toby tears a piece of glass out of her without even the guise of care.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding anything but.

“Christ, would you get it together?” 

Toby’s jaw clenches. 

“I don’t exactly remember you doing so well tonight,” he cleans one of her wounds roughly.

“Well at least I had a fucking shot at it, you got taken out by a fucking  _ twelve-year-old!” _

“You don’t exactly look like an adult, doesn’t make you any less of a threat.”

“You  _ saw _ her, Magpie, bitch could barely walk in her damn shoes. Congratulations, you successfully screwed up the  _ easiest  _ thing you could’ve done. Good fucking job, mate.” 

Toby tosses the cotton bud down, “We were supposed to get her friends and get out of there.” He bit out, “We had it down until  _ you _ ruined everything.”

It’s rare to see him actually show his anger, but it’s been happening more often of late. Particularly at Matt. It’s sickeningly satisfying. And at least when he’s angry at her, he’s actually looking at her like she’s human. 

“Our job is to kill her, I had that chance, did you just want me to  _ waste it?” _

“If you  _ really  _ thought  _ you _ could take on Carmen Sandiego by yourself then you’re dumber than I thought you were.” 

“I had my hands around her fucking throat, Magpie!” She says, loudly. Kolya curls in on himself.

“And yet here you are!” Toby gestures to her bloody and bandaged arms.

“You saw that necklace, you saw what that bitch was wearing! There was only one way she could’ve gotten that, you know it!”

It had taken Matt everything she had not to attack the pair the moment she had seen it. All that rage that was simmering burst forward like a solar flare. To know that here Matt was, with a wound that would never close and a best friend who was terrified of her when he wasn’t furious with her, and yet Gray meant so little to the woman who had him killed that she was willing to hand off everything that he owned to her posse without as much as a shred of guilt.

This was why they were doing this. Carmen Sandiego had already destroyed so much of their lives, and if Matt and Toby couldn’t stop her, she was going to destroy more. 

“So it was worth completely losing your shit over it?” Toby demands, “God, Giselle, are you a trained agent or a tantruming  _ fucking _ child?”

“More of an agent than you or fucking Chamomile Boy over there,” she gestures to Kolya, “At least I could actually do my fucking job tonight, at least I’m not completely  _ worthless.” _

She thinks she may have gone too far.

Kolya’s eyes fill with tears, and he looks down, saying nothing. Toby grabs her wrist, his fingers digging in and it hurts. It makes her so angry she barely knows anything else. 

“Let-”

“Madison,  _ darling,” _ It shuts her up immediately. Toby only ever uses pet names when he’s about to fuck someone, or fuck someone up, “You ever so much as  _ insinuate _ that about Romashka again and I’ll make sure you never get another shot at Sandiego in your life.”

She doesn’t reply. This was what she wanted, right? Right? The only way she can talk to him is to rile him up. Matt looks down at a piece of glass still in her left forearm, and yanks it out. 

***   
  


It’s about 6 am, Auckland time, when the guilt sets in. It always sets in. Matt’s rages are like summer storms, they come in vitriolic in the afternoon and they leave imperceptibly in the darkness. She finds guilt the same way she used to find frogs on her window afterwards, she never realises its there until it’s all gone quiet, but she supposes it always was. 

Perhaps it’s the fact that Auckland reminds her of Gray. When whatever happened to him with Sandiego in New Zealand was just some fun mystery to her. Had Sandiego planned it, even back then?

There’s some things Matt won’t admit out loud. Like the question that always plagues her. Like the way it keeps her up at night, wondering why Sandiego did what she did. Matt will never ask her, not even if she gets the chance. Because when the time comes for Matt to land the killing blow - and it will be her who has to land it - she can’t hesitate for a second.

Kolya’s taken the couch. He has a mission of his own, tomorrow, and it would’ve been too much for him to go all the way back to headquarters then leave again. But when Matt creeps out, arms still sore, she finds him sitting with his knees under his chin. 

“Hey,” she says, quietly. Kolya looks up at her, and then back down, saying nothing.

“Can I sit down?” Nothing, again. But Kolya shifts just the tiniest bit to give her room. She sits.

“I don’t think you’re worthless,” she says, “It was really cruel of me to say that, and I’m sorry.”

Kolya turns his face to hers. She can see the bruising around his face, now it’s had time to develop properly.

“And I’m sorry I screwed up the mission,” he says, quietly. 

“It’s... you didn’t screw up the mission. That wasn’t true, I didn’t mean it,” she says, “I was just angry that we lost. I should never have taken it out on you, I’m sorry.”

“You’re always angry,” Kolya said, “Even at Magpie. It’s like walking on eggs, with you.”

“Eggshells,” she corrects, gently, “Do I really make you feel like that?” 

Kolya curls up even tighter.

“You were so nice, when I first met you,” he whispers, “and you still are, sometimes. But ever since…  _ that _ happened… you… you’re different, now,” his voice quietens even further, “You scare me, sometimes.”

Matt knows. She’s known for a while. There’s nothing she hates more than the thought of it, but there’s nothing she can do to change it. The last of her self-control departed this mortal coil the same time Gray did. Now all she can do is watch as everything else she loves is ripped from her. There’s a reason Toby treats her the way he does. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, “Once… once this mess with Sandiego is over… I could - I think I’ll be okay. But nothing can get better until she’s gone.”

“Are you sure taking her group is the best way to find her?” Kolya asks, gently. 

“It’s our best option so far.”

And they’d tried everything. It was starting to become understandable as to why more experienced VILE agents couldn’t track her down. But they hadn’t gotten more intensive training for nothing, they’d gotten closer than anyone had. Baiting her through however she had access to their channels was  _ technically  _ Roundabout’s idea, but it was Toby’s to try and use her team. She would either come for them, or she wouldn’t, and they would be broken down enough to reveal her location. Neither action correlated to what had happened with Gray. But Matt would never say that. 

“What about that place in that city where… he was found.”   
  
“San Diego? Kolya, it’s literally a house with the word ‘Carmen’ on the front in a city with her last name. It could not be more obviously a trap if it was a box propped up with a stick and her coat underneath it.”

“Why would a box with a stick… oh, right.”

“I just… I can’t bear knowing that she’s still alive. That she’s fine. That after everything she’s ever done she just gets  _ away _ with it. She killed my best friend. I cannot just  _ sit _ here, with all this pain, and let her feel none of it.”

Kolya squeezes her hand. She tenses, but can’t bring herself to pull away from him, “I know,” he tells her, “I’d do the exact same thing, if I could.”

“You still can,” she says, “I know there’s a reason you won’t talk about your past too much, but if you ever need a vengeance quest, I’m here.”

“Vengeance quest?” She can see Kolya doing the translations in his head. “Like a revenge thing?” 

She nods. Kolya doesn’t answer her immediately. He wraps and unwraps his free hand around an imaginary pen, or brush, and into a fist.

“Doesn’t it make me evil, if I want to?” He eventually asks, quietly, “Isn’t revenge… wrong?”

“Kolya, haven’t you killed multiple people?”

“That’s different. It’s like when the hero kills all the - henchmen? - to get to the bad guy who killed his wife. And then doesn’t kill that guy because revenge is wrong, you know?”

“Yeah, that’s just bad writing. Superhero movies aren’t the best moral codes.”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never seen one. I’ve just heard it said. But the idea of it is, doesn’t forgiving people make you the better person? That’s what I was always told.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure whoever told you that was trying to manipulate you,” Matt doesn’t know a lot about Kolya’s family, except that she’s pretty sure his siblings fucking  _ sucked.  _ “Regardless, it doesn’t make you evil. It makes you someone who’s been hurt, and who’s never gotten closure. Anyway, I don’t think anything could make you evil. Even… multiple counts of murder.”

Kolya leans against her, and it takes everything Matt has not to recoil. 

“I’m not losing the only family that’s ever mattered to me. I’m not. If that means people have to die, I don’t care.”

*** 

Toby walks in to see Kolya asleep, curled up with his head on Matt’s lap. He smiles, and it’s the first time he’s actually genuinely smiled in her direction in weeks. In fact, it’s probably the first time he’s done it since Gray died.

Matt doesn’t return it. She doesn’t know how to, anymore. 


	4. Amelia in Paris: Are Ladybugs Really Good Luck Charms?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia and Gray are back in action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so this and chapter 5 were originally written as one, but it was a fucking behemoth of a chapter, so I didn't do that.

“So,  _ how  _ exactly do I use this?” Carmen asked, holding the controller with confusion. Amelia turned to stare at her.

“Have you seriously never played video games before? Where have you been?”

“It’s… complicated,” Carmen said, “I had access to a couple of handheld devices, but nothing like this.”

Amelia didn’t want to pry. Considering that it was a secret backstory, it was probably something very tragic and indicative of her want to do the good for the world that wasn’t done for her, or something like that. Or it could be something completely innocent. Maybe she was raised in a commune. Or was Amish. Really, who was Amelia to judge?

“So you’ve never played Smash before?” She asked. 

“Never.”

“Which is why I’m here,” Zack said, waving his casted arm. “To help.”

“To live vicariously, more like it,” Gray muttered. He had a couch cushion on his lap, trying to wrap his arms around it the best he could whilst still holding his controller. Not that Amelia could say anything to it, at least it was a cushion that was the victim of his stupid Koala Instincts (she’d actually enlisted Zack, at one point, to help her test the theory. It takes Gray less than a minute of sitting near any soft-ish object before he starts spooning it. He’s not even aware that he does it), and not her. She needed freedom of movement when kicking collective videogame ass.

“So, essentially, I have to pick a character, and then I have to fight your other characters, with that character?” Carmen asked. They all nodded. “Seems easy, is that really the entire point of this game?”

“Well, no, the entire point is to make Gray eat shit,” Amelia says.

“Hey!”

“Oh,” Carmen smiles, “Well that’s something I’ve always been able to do with ease.”

“Yeah, sure,” Gray says, turning to her, “We’ll see about that.” 

“Anyway, you gotta pick your character, first,” Zack said, “You wanna get one that works best with your skills, so it’ll take a while to figure out…”

“You pick your character based on their stats?” Amelia asked, “Okay, bigshot. Carmen, just go with the one you’re most attached to.”

“Yeah, Amelia paid extra just so she could have her favourite anime boy in the game.”

“Shut up, Gray.” 

“And Carmen doesn’t have an attachment to any of these characters,” Zack reminded them.

“Could you three just be quiet and let me choose?” Carmen said. She flicked over the myriad of icons, looking at the characters as they appeared on the screen, pausing on some but flicking over others.

She eventually stopped on one. 

“Zelda? I know her,” she said. They all looked at her. 

“You do?” Zack asked. 

“Yeah!” Carmen smiled, brightly, “She’s not the protagonist, right? Even though the game’s named after her.”

Gray laughed softly, in the way Mama would laugh at her, “Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Out of everything,  _ that’s  _ what you remember, from wherever you grew up?”

“I’ve never played video games at all, Gray. I don’t  _ remember _ anything.” 

Gray laughed. And suddenly and imperceptibly tensed. He always tried to make it unnoticeable, but it never worked. Not that anyone minded. Amelia just wished there was some sort of pattern to his disorientations, that there was some sort of cause, but more often than not they just happened. Though, this one was fairly mild, in comparison to some of the others Amelia had seen. 

And it also wasn’t unnoticed by Zack or Carmen.

“Gray, date?” Zack asked, not even remotely subtly, putting a hand on Gray’s forearm. 

Gray lets out a long breath, “It’s the 3rd of March,” he says, “It’s been about two months since you brought me back.”

“Good.”

“Sorry,” he said, “It’s just best to nip it at the bud, you know?”

“Hey, no one’s blaming you,” Carmen said, “We understand.”

“Well, anyway, now that  _ that _ episode’s over,” Gray says, looking back at the screen, “Let’s see if Carmen’s as talented as she always seems to think she is.”

***

“Okay, James, I need your honest opinion,” Amelia says, in her room, again. James looks at her, in his scathing preteen way. It immediately tells her he’s about to insult her in the most Fake Text Post From 2014 way possible. His clapback will be scathing. She will be roasted. Everyone will clap. 

“No, you can’t video call Mama yet,” he says, which... wasn’t even that bad. Maybe high school hadn’t changed him as much as Amelia was fearing it would, “You’ve still got faint scratch marks on your cheeks. Papa might not notice, but her and Nana will. And they’re already weary.”

Amelia groaned. 

“Well, that’s what you get for getting so beat up in Moscow.”

“Oh, yes, because I  _ really _ wanted to get duct taped up and shoved in a storeroom.” 

James rolls his eyes, “Well, at least you’re doing something  _ interesting.” _

“Aww, fancy Sydney high school not all it’s cracked up to be?” She asks, and then, with more sympathy, “How’s everything going there, anyway?”

“Oh my God, Amelia, it is  _ so  _ fucking boring,” James groans, “At first, it was like ‘new school so scaaary, but now I kind know where everything is it’s just  _ dull. _ We’ll be spending days on concepts that can be learnt in a fucking  _ hour.” _

Amelia was a little worried that this would happen. It had been happening since James was a kid. But, honestly, it’s what he got, for being some sort of supergenius. Amelia couldn’t bring herself to be  _ too _ piteous of him. 

“Okay, first off,  _ language, _ second off, just because  _ you _ can pick something up in an hour doesn’t mean your classmates can.”

James sighs, “I know, I know, but the only reason I agreed to even apply for this place was so this  _ wouldn’t _ happen. It’s not like the other kids are any better, they’re complete snobs. But that doesn’t mean I want to spend the next six years running circles around them. I mainly hang out with the other scholarship kids, but still,” he mutters, “It’s kinda lonely.”

“You know, I really think you should meet Player. You two would get on.”

“Yeah, well, if Player ever has the time, when he isn’t saving the world,” James says, bitterly. 

Amelia wishes she could offer more, but she’d never exactly planned being whisked away by a superthief to join her crew to be a part of her life trajectory. No, instead, she’d planned on being promoted to the official field agent of the secret agent government bureaucracy, which was certainly a  _ far  _ more normal aspiration. 

But she doesn’t even know if she  _ can _ help him. Amelia knew that he miles ahead of her, intelligence wise, by the time he was seven. She supposed she should’ve resented him, but she never really saw the point. Mama and Papa loved her just the same, anyway. 

“Surely there’s  _ some _ good things about school,” she says.

“Well… there is a girl…” James suddenly looks  _ very _ shifty. 

“Like, in a platonic way, or a romantic way?” Amelia asks, immediately suspicious.

“I… I don’t know!” James says, running a hand over his face. “Maybe! It’s complicated…”

“Good! You’re thirteen, you are  _ way _ too young for romantic relationships.”

“You’re just saying that because  _ you’re  _ nineteen and’ve never had a boy-”

“Oi…” she says, warningly, because James knows better than anyone not to go down that path.

“Anyway, nothing’s gonna come of it,” James says, “She’s in Year 8, and she’s kinda… depressed. I’ve had like, two conversations with her, she doesn’t really talk to anyone. Apparently some shit went down last year or whatever, but she rides a skateboard!”

“Maybe she could do with a friend,” Amelia tells him, “But don’t come on too strong, let her take the lead. Also, what did I say about talking to people in the other years?”

“I was bored! What was the worst that could’ve happened? Anyway, I know how to make friends, Amelia, I’m not you.”   
  


“Hey!”

James suddenly looks up, “Mama’s coming,” he says, “You better go before she asks to talk to you.” 

Amelia sighs, and hangs up. James, for all his childish stupidity, was indispensable in her work with ACME. He’d figured it out about half a year after Amelia got the job, and the only thing that kept Amelia from committing fratricide was the fact that he threatened to snitch if she didn’t let him help her out. And Amelia would rather walk through a fire than admit it, but she couldn’t have survived without him. She handled the ACME stuff, he handled keeping the ACME stuff secret from everyone else in her life. 

As excited as Amelia was to leave home (and by extension, Australia), she was also terrified. James was one of the deciding factors that made her so resolute. She had been robbed of so much of her adolescence because of ACME, she wasn’t about to let that happen to him. 

Amelia sighed, and turned her lamp off. She might as well get some sleep.

When she wakes up, she’s terrified. She sits up and barely comprehends where she is, she just knows she’s alone and she’s always going to be alone, and she’s crying and she doesn’t know why. 

“Gray...” she whispers, and that quickly explains why, “Gray.”

She hates that she can’t control herself when she says it. She hates that can’t control herself like  _ he _ can. Amelia’s just glad he’s never heard her like this. 

“Yes?” A very confused voice asks, from behind Amelia’s closed bedroom door. 

Oh,  _ come on! _

Nothing had more rapidly brought Amelia Diallo back to her senses than that.

Her door opens very slowly, and Gray stares at her, confused. 

“How did you know it was me?” he asks, “I was just about to knock, I didn’t realise you were still in bed.”

“Oh.. uh, your footsteps,” she says, her neck itching, “I recognised your footsteps.”

“Huh,” Gray says, taking that as invitation to come in. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” 

Amelia does  _ not _ like where this is going. There are tiny little inflections to Graham Marks, to his tone and to his actions, something she’d only truly been able to notice in her Exile, when she spent two months straight with him. And if Amelia had learnt them as well as she believed, this line of questioning was not going in a direction she was going to like. 

“Yes?”

“How did you end up developing that little… nervous tic of yours? You never had it before.”

“What tic?”

“You scratch the back of your neck whenever you’re lying,” Gray says, sitting down on the end of her bed.

And her heart sinks. Amelia Diallo knows when she’s been caught. 

But the feeling’s genuinely overpowered by the sheer, irrational relief that she feels just to see him here. He’s never been here before, when she was like this. Amelia could always just handle it by herself.

For some reason, though, today, she couldn’t.

She wraps her arms around his chest. Pulls herself close, just to make sure that he’s there, and this is real.

“Whoa, okay” Gray says, hesitating, “Uh, it’s okay. I don’t know what ‘it’ is, but it’s okay.”

Gray’s exceptionally warm. He always has been. Amelia’s sure there’s  _ some _ kind of scientific explanation for it (she’d ask James, but “hey why does my male friend feel so hot when I touch his chest” is  _ not _ the type of question that goes down well with a thirteen year old). But still, he always gave the best hugs.

“Now, what’s wrong?” He asks her.

The question makes the shame rise back in her, and Amelia reminds herself what she’s doing. Of what she needs to do.

“It’s… nothing,” she says, because she is nineteen years old and better than this, “Really. I’m sorry I dragged you into it.”

But Gray, so true to Gray form, just stares at her, deadpan.

“No, seriously, Amelia, what’s going on?”

“I’m fine, honestly.” She’s been practicing her poker face for just this reason. It’s not up to his level, but she’s sure it’s getting there, “I’m just… I was just…”

See, this is where Amelia always fails. She can never make her actions match up with her words and that always trips her up. Amelia’s insisting to Gray that she’s fine whilst literally hugging him after tearily calling his name completely unprompted. It’s time like these that she wishes she had everything as together as he did.

“Okay,” Gray nods, “Okay, I understand that. Just answer me this, Amelia, and honestly,”

This time Amelia’s definite to the fact that she knows enough about Gray to know what he’s about to ask. Her stomach drops. Why couldn’t she just keep it under control?

“Do you have nightmares about what happened in Korea?”

Godamnnit. She’s failed. She’s completely failed. But it’s okay! It’s okay. Amelia can still salvage this.

“No, honestly, it’s fine. I’m fine. There’s no nightmares.”

Technically, that’s true, they’re not nightmares. And  _ technically,  _ it’s not about what happened in Korea, it’s about what happened  _ after _ Korea. So,  _ therefore,  _ everything Amelia just said is one  _ hundred _ percent true and Gray should just back off and leave her alone! Easy!

“Stop  _ lying _ to me, please.”

Gray’s tone makes Amelia jump. Not at the volume but at the sheer desperation in his tone, “Please, Amelia, I can’t explain it to you right now, but I need you to talk to me. Truthfully.”

Amelia can’t. She can’t. It’s this invisible line she can’t cross. She opens her mouth but nothing comes out because she can’t tell him because what would he think of her? Amelia’s furious at herself for it, imagine how Gray would feel. 

“It’s not a big deal,” is all she can say. 

“When it’s you, it is.”

Amelia pulls away. Hugs her knees. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do. How’s she supposed to approach this? What’s she supposed to say? How could she explain it to him in a way that doesn’t make her look even worse than she already feels? Gray loves her, she knows that, and he would still love her regardless of everything, but she still can’t bring herself to get the words out. 

“It’s not, something I can explain.”

Gray nods, slightly, “Can I try?” he asks.

Amelia doesn’t really think she can stop him, at this point. 

“Some mornings you see me and you look so relieved you could cry,” Is all Gray says to it, “You don’t hide as well as you’d like to.”

Why couldn’t she just be like him? 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I just wanted to give you time, you’d figure it out when you were ready, but...”

“They’re not  _ nightmares,”  _ she says, before she can stop herself. Amelia wanted nothing more than to stop herself, “I just… I wake up and for some reason… I just think you’re not there… that I’m alone, completely alone… and I don’t know where you are.”

She can’t bring herself to look at him. But she realises she doesn’t have much of a choice. So Amelia meets his eyes. And the sheer  _ guilt  _ written all over his face makes her feel worse than any sort of anger ever would.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, quietly, and Amelia can’t help but scoff.

“Gray, you of all people, do you even have to ask?”

Gray has to close his eyes for a minute. 

“Look, Amelia, I…” Gray puts his hands on her shoulders. “You can’t… build your entire life around me, I can’t be with you all the time, there’s gonna be a point where-”

“I know that, it’s not something I can control.”

Gray inhales, sharply, “Just, I need you to know that you’re gonna be just fine on your own. I know that, since before Moscow I’ve made sure of that. And you’re gonna have Zack, and Ivy… and Carmen, you’re not gonna be alone, no matter what happens to me. You understand that?”

Amelia doesn’t know why Gray’s telling her all this. All that she already knows. There’s a reason she’s trying so hard to handle this on her own. Because she has to. Amelia Diallo has to grow up.

“I know, I know. And I know you’ll always be there for me, no matter what happens.”

Gray just hugs her, again. It’s nice, but Amelia has to do better next time. She can’t bring herself to pull away, even as punishment. Gray keeps comfort so close to his skin, where his head rests on hers, engraved on the outer side of his ribs and he holds it all in his arms when he holds them open. Amelia can’t deny her instinct for it, she’s not as strong as he is.

“Anyway,” she says, after several minutes have passed, “What was it you came here to tell me?”

“Oh, right,” Gray said, pulling away. “With Zack out of commission, Carmen’s down a person for the Paris mission. Specifically, a getaway driver.”

“And she picked… me? I’m not exactly known for my Need for Speed skills.”

“No, you were already going, that’s been established,” Gray says, and it’s at this point that Amelia realises he’s smiling in the way he does when he’s about to drop an absolute bombshell. Her stomach swoops, is this going where she thinks she’s going?

“She asked me to come,” Gray said.

Oh, holy fuck. Amelia has to physically restrain herself. She needs that final confirmation.

“And what did you say?” She says, slowly standing up before the excitement overcomes her, “Graham, what did you say, are you coming? Are you seriously coming on missions again?”

And Gray’s smile almost mirrors the emotions rising in her chest. And he nods. 

Amelia’s just a  _ little  _ bit ashamed to admit it (she wouldn’t admit it at all if she was still with ACME), but she squeals.

***

It was a little cramped, in the train compartment, but Amelia didn’t mind it at all. It was calming, the rhythmic  _ thunk-thunk _ of the train as it moved. They’d landed on an airstrip an hour or so away from the city, so as not to draw too much French attention (a highly concerning prospect).

The plan was simple, but Carmen always said the plan was simple: Museums all over Paris were being hit, and judging by the pattern, they were targeting le Musée de l’Orangerie, or more specifically, Monet’s water lily collection.

“The Nympheas,” Carmen had explained, when they were first briefed. “Cleo’s not the Impressionist type, but high value is high value, so we can’t rule VILE out.”

The only problem was that they weren’t even sure it  _ was _ VILE. There was no evidence of any operative anywhere near the steal sites. It had started in early January, and Player was going into overdrive tracking data. They were going off a hunch. 

Which was why Shadowsan was here. He was sitting next to Carmen, who herself was sitting opposite them, next to the window. Amelia was on the right side of the compartment, in between Ivy and Gray, who had insisted on taking the seat closest to the door. No one was going to argue with him, it was clear how nervous he was. Particularly now. 

Gray’s hands were clasped tightly in front of him, but every now and again he would reach inside his bag, as if checking that everything was still there. His shoulders were hunched, and his eyes kept flickering around the compartment, like a cornered animal’s. Amelia understood why. Carmen had made it clear to him the chance of Matt and Toby being there, and that must have shaken him. Telling him about their encounter in Moscow was perhaps not the best idea, in retrospect, Amelia had never seen so much anger be restrained.

Amelia grabbed his hand, “Nervous?” she asked. 

“No, I’m-” Grays paused, looking at the luggage rack above Shadowsan, “Yes, a little.”

“Come on, it’ll be fine!” Amelia squeezed his hand, “It’s Paris!”

“Right,” Gray says, glancing over to the left corner of the compartment and back, “Because nothing has  _ ever _ gone wrong in Paris before.”

Amelia nudges him.

“Stop being a dick, maybe this time everything will go fine!”

“Knowing us,” Gray finally looks at her, raising an eyebrow, “That’d be pretty fucking mirac-”

The sound of the train rapidly passing another drowned him out.

***

Amelia Diallo was finally doing it. After a year, a tumultuous, nightmarish year, she was doing it. All her struggles were now worth it. 

She was wearing the hat. 

And the coat. Walking through the Jardin de Tuileries, Amelia had never felt cooler in her entire life. 

She was on decoy. Her entire job was to draw any potential attention while Ivy and Amelia got the paintings. Shadowsan was off doing… Shadowsan-y ninja things (She was told that he would be investigating the potential VILE connections, but Amelia preferred the Shadowsan-y ninja explanation).

It was a cold night. Cold, but bearable, and incredibly clear. Moonlight hit the statues placed around the gardens in a way that cast melodramatic shadows over everything. Amelia couldn’t help but glide through them, being as quiet as she could (wasn’t as quiet as Carmen but she was  _ trying, _ okay?), feeling like she was in the opening panels of a comic book. No wonder Carmen loved this so much. 

“I’ll have you all seeing red,” she muttered to herself. She’d been practicing her witty smirk, as well. 

“Having fun playing secret agent?” Gray asked, through a much more practical earring than the one she’d worn to Moscow. Amelia jumped.

“Please tell me you didn’t hear that,” she said.

“I’m afraid I can tell you no lies, my friend.”

“That’s a lie in itself!”

“Semantics. Anyway, how do you feel?”

“So  _ fucking  _ cool, Gray. Though, I do miss my Sailor Moon buns. You?”

“I mean, the coat’s pretty sweet, but I’m just sitting in a car,” Gray had been given his own Carmen Cosplay (Sandiesona? Amelia still hadn’t decided) just in case things went bad, but he was being kept away from the action, for obvious reasons. He needed some time before he could get fully back in the game. 

“And don’t the Sailor Moon buns have a proper name? And have the ponytail thingies?” Gray asked.

“They’re called ‘odango,’ but that’s just a Japanese term for a bun. I tried the whole hairstyle when I had braids, but ACME didn’t like it too much, so I went back to a regular bun.”

“Man, fuck ACME.”

“Speaking of ACME,” Player interjected, “Actually, just let me clarify that I only heard the last line of your conversation, I wasn’t listening. Anyway, ACME’s on their way. You’ll wanna get into position.”

“ACME?” Amelia hadn’t seen an ACME agent since… ever, actually. She was the only one she’d ever known. But she hadn’t seen her higher ups since she left. She wasn’t looking forward to the reunion. “Where are they?”

“About two hundred metres to your right. You’ll wanna walk in front of that statue, and they’ll see you.”

“On it.”

“Have fun!” Gray said, sing-song, “Give me a yell if things turn to shit, though.”

Amelia walked out in front of the statue, a dark marble one a naked woman laying down in a pose Amelia could comprehend, but couldn’t describe very well. Essentially, when a crow landed on her outstretched hand, she looked quite surprised to see him there. Amelia stepped in front of it, and into the moonlight. Any moment now, they would see her.

She must’ve spooked the crow, however, because it took off with a loud squawk.

“La Femme Rouge!” 

“Let’s roll, baby,” she murmured, before taking off.

Amelia Diallo was back in fucking action!

Player guided her through the gardens, showing her through shortcuts and what minimal parkour she’d been learning with Carmen and Shadowsan (Shadowsan was focusing on hand-to-hand, and Carmen was busier, so she was still on the basics). The man chasing her was fast, and her legs were short, but Amelia had been in this situation enough times before not to worry. And all those other times, she never had a world class hacker on her side.

“Turn right, then duck behind the statue,” Player told her, “Go through the bushes and vault the fence. Try to lure them out of the gardens.”

“Will do.” 

Amelia took a sharp right, and then swerved behind the statue. She waited for the footsteps to thunder past, before cutting through the foliage and reaching the fence. It was the old brass spiked type, and Amelia wasted precious moments trying to find her way over it. But eventually she took footing on the brick base, and finally managed to clamber over it. 

She’d caught the agent’s attention, but was kind of the  _ point,  _ so she wasn’t too worried. 

“Stop!” He called “I will not let you perpetuate my crisis of morality!”

Amelia had to fight the urge to stop and ask what the actual fuck this guy was on about. Was this some French thing that she was inherently too cool and sexy to understand? Didn’t matter. She took off across the road.   
  


And immediately realised that French people could not  _ fucking  _ drive. 

In their defence, she had just run out onto the middle of the road without warning. In their  _ offence,  _ however, she was in the middle of a high speed secret agent chase, could they show some damn  _ courtesy? _ She was having a moment!

But then, with a whoosh of movement all too close to her, and an infuriated French yell out of an infuriated French car window, Amelia’s feet hit the footpath just as her hat flew off her head. 

And Amelia Diallo, very instinctively and  _ very  _ stupidly…

Turned around to grab it.

The man who was chasing her, on the other side of the road, halted. And, to be fair, he too looked exactly like a character from a comic or cartoon. A villain of the fucking week, to be exact. The exact type of dumbass who’s origin story would be getting the shit kicked out of him by a magical depression butterfly. Or something else as equally stupid. Amelia would never. 

And he was looking at her with far too much French shock on his face. Shocque, if one will. Probably because he was quickly putting together the fact that she was not, in fact, the very cool and pretty Carmen Sandiego.

_“Amelia_ _Diallo?”_

What the  _ fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading this for me is a pendulum swing between "You are the funniest bitch to ever walk the earth," and "You really thought wearing the clown costume was enough to make you a funny one. That's the biggest joke in itself."


	5. Amelia in Paris: Look Out For The Ladybugs, They Do Bring Good Luck!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia and Gray make a French guy crash his car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad this is done ngl 
> 
> It could probably use some more work but I am writing to a deadline so anyway

Amelia Diallo is certain of one thing:

She has never met this man in her entire life. 

And yet here he stands, just as shocked to see her as she is to hear him.

“Player, did you hear that?”

“Yeah, why would Devineaux know _you?”_

Devineaux? Yeah, that sounds French enough to be his name. 

“You know _him?”_ She demands.

“Long story, but perhaps it’s time we-”

“Get the hell outta dodge?” Amelia says, just as the agent - Devineaux? - started to cross the road. “Yeah.”

She took off.

“Wa- Wait!” Devineaux called, “Come back here!”

And with the sound of footsteps and cars honking, she knew she was being tailed. 

Amelia didn’t know what to do. Should she still keep trying to lure him away? But what if it was dangerous? She didn’t even know why he knew her. Why the _hell_ does he know her?

“Player, what do I do?”

“Keep luring him. For the first time in his life he’s interested in something other than Carmen. Keep going!”

“For once? Who the fuck is this guy? And why does he know me?”

“A _long_ suffering ACME agent. Been after us for a while. Also, why would I know? I’m not in charge of your social calendar!”

Amelia knew that the people she was leading away were ACME agents. And then she realised _exactly_ why Devineaux knew her. She just didn’t know why it took so long for it to click.

“Is there a possibility that they’re a little… miffed about my whole, _defection?”_

Player paused, “Oh… _yeah._ I forgot about that part. I just thought you left amicably, though?”

“Uh… yeah… about that…”

“Wait, uh, Mademoiselle Diallo, wait!”

“You know what?” she said, “No time. Get me _out_ of here!”

“Where to?”  
  


“Anywhere!”

“Okay, give me a minute,” Player didn’t say anything for about five seconds, then “Take a hard left on the next street.”

“On it!”

The whole chase thing was a lot harder to pull off when it was less a fun game of Dodge The ACME Agents, and more an unfun game Dodge The ACME Agents So You Don’t Get Dragged Back To The Government. Amelia’s lungs were burning, but she couldn’t stop running.

People were staring at the two of them. She was sweating underneath her coat, and one of the pins holding her hair down came loose. Her feet were aching from the repetitive slamming against the worn cobbled pavement. And she was struggling to keep herself calm. 

But the destination Player was guiding her to soon became apparent, as their getaway vehicle came into view.

“You want me to go in there? What if Carmen needs it?”

“You guys can come back to her. You just need to shake Devineaux.”

Amelia wrenched the passenger side open. Gray nearly jumped out of his seat.

“Amelia? What the hell are you doing here?”

“The ACME agent recognised me, and now he won’t stop chasing me!”

“You? Why you?”

“Long story, just dri- wait,” an idea suddenly popped into her head, “Gray, put on the hat, I need you to lead him away.”

“What, I gotta stay-”

“Just go far enough to lose him, trust me, Gray!”

Gray looked at her, worried. Then, nodded, put his hat on, and stepped out of the car. There was the sound of pounding footsteps. And then, suddenly, in a very shocqued voice.

_“You?”_

The driver’s door immediately opened, and Gray sat back inside, shaken.

“Okay, so he recognised me too,” he said, “Let’s fucking drive.”

He wasted no time stepping on it, and Amelia was blasted back into her seat. 

“Fuck!” she cried, grabbing for her seatbelt.

“You know, I _really_ thought I was past this,” Gray said, swerving through traffic, “But I have absolutely no clue who the fuck that man was.”

“His name is Chase Devineaux,” Player said, “He’s an ACME agent.”

“So why does he _recognise_ me?”

“I… don’t know,” Player said. 

“And I don’t think it really matters right now,” Amelia cut in, looking through the rearview mirror.

They were being tailed by the aggressively blinding LED headlights of what could only be a government vehicle. Gray looked up, but to her surprise, didn’t look too worried. In fact, he was grinning. 

“Ah, well,” he said, “Looks like we’ve gotta shake a tail.” He laughed, almost to himself, and swerved around a corner, barely avoiding another car. “Then let’s fucking shake it.”

And then they were going even faster. Amelia had never had more of a need for the Jesus Handle than now. And she’d driven with Mama.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about this guy,” Player said, as they sped through the streets. “He’s not exactly known for his driving ability.”

“Well, me neither, but here we are,” Gray said, “Now, get us the quickest route to get rid of this guy.”

“There’s traffic lights to your left, they’re turning red soon, if you can get across before that happens, you’ll be able to buy some time.”

“And if old mate wants to run it?”

“With Parisian traffic? Good luck to him.”

Gray just smiled. And then he turned left, swerving between the cars and bikes. His movements were erratic and mastered, and Amelia had the horrible feeling that she was going to die here. In Paris. With her suddenly out of control best friend Mad Maxing it away from the governmental agency Amelia herself used to work for. 

She hadn’t exactly _prepared_ for that, but there were worse ways to go.

The lights ahead of them flicked over to yellow, and even with Gray’s insane driving, there was no way they were going to make it before the traffic on the other side came through.

“Amelia,” Gray said, grinning at her, “Hold on.”

“Wha-”

Her voice was drowned out by the noise of the engine revving up, and then they were going so fast Amelia’s breath was snatched from her lungs. 

The lights turn red just as they’re in front of them, and they cross as the cars to Amelia’s right start to move and her heart stops dead. She hears the honking of horns and the screeching of brakes and she thinks she’s about to throw up.

But Gray just laughs. Not just any laugh, he’s full on _cackling,_ it’s elated. 

“Holy fuck,” he calls out, breathlessly, “I see why Zack likes this so much.”

Amelia looks at him, and there’s a glint in his eyes she’s never seen before. His smile is pointed and a little crazed but at the same time it’s inviting and it makes her want to laugh too. He takes another corner, laughing all the while and Amelia hasn’t seen him this happy in months. In fact, Amelia doesn’t think she’s _ever_ seen him like this before. Somehow, it calms her down. It makes her laugh, too. 

But it’s not long before they see the headlights again. They look back, and then to each other. 

“What now?” She asks. 

“We keep going, of course.”

Gray turns the car, heading across a bridge, when an idea suddenly appears in her head.

“Gray, chuck a uey.”

“What?”  
  


“When I tell you to, go.”

She watched Gray following her line of logic, and his smile widened. 

“You fucking genius, let’s do it!”

The LED headlights were almost blinding her, or maybe it was just the sensory overload of all the adrenaline. Her heart was pounding, getting faster and faster until it completely morphed into one continuous sound. 

Gray slowed the car down, and the headlights of Devineaux’s car got larger and larger. Amelia couldn’t think properly, all she was focused on was exactly the right moment to strike. 

And just as they felt the jolt of transitioning from the bridge to the regular road, she found it.

“Now!”

Gray wrenched the steering wheel to the left and they whirled around, but to Amelia it felt like they were moving in slow motion. She had just enough time to register the shock on Devineaux’s face as he tried to turn, but instead lost control of his own vehicle. But then they were already halfway back across the bridge, and all Amelia could hear was the distinct sound of a car crashing. 

Uh oh.

“I seriously hope that wasn’t lethal!” She said, turning around to look, but Gray had quickly turned them out of sight. 

“It probably wasn’t,” Player said, “Devineaux is surprisingly... durable to car related injuries.”

Gray laughed, “Well, I don’t think we have to worry about _him_ anymore. Let’s get out of here.”

They took off. 

*** 

Gray finally stopped the car about five minutes later. He was breathless with laughter. And Amelia stared at him, at this white man wearing a long coat, and thanked every single god that he wasn’t British. She was _not_ doing that again.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, “Where the _fuck_ did you learn to drive like that?”

“Well,” he replied, “I’ve had to make more than a few getaways in my time.”

Amelia didn’t know where they were. She didn’t care, she leant her head back against the car headrest, and felt her hair loosen further from the style she’d forced it back into for the hat. Pulling the pins out, she pushed her hair back into some semblance of normalcy.

“Good thinking,” Gray said, “back there.”

“Thanks.”

“But why did he know who you were?” Gray asked, “What’s the deal?”

“Uh, yeah…” Amelia said, “When I left ACME, I didn’t _exactly_ tell them that I was leaving. So…”

“So…” Gray’s face fell, “They think you defected. And now they’re mad.”

“Yup,” Amelia sighed, “But I didn’t have any point of contact with them, how was I supposed to? If they had a mission for me they came to me. Only fully fledged agents get the pen!”

“The what?”

“Nevermind,” Amelia leant back. “I’m just glad that we got away, I don’t know what would’ve happened had he caught me.”

“Not a lot, probably,” Player said.

“Well, I reckon we could’ve had a crack at him,” Gray said, rummaging through his pockets “I mean, I brought some things as a last resort.”

He pulled out four small, semicircle-like objects. They looked like strange little ladybugs with no spots, but Amelia had had to decode those blueprints, she knew exactly what they were. 

“Lorikeet’s Red Bellies? I thought you only made one?”

“I lied. Again, these were as a last resort. They’ve got a tranquiliser in them, the whole thing’s wired to my phone.”

Ever since Seoul, Gray had been given a lot of leeway with Carmen, far more than Amelia ever had, or ever would have. But that never really mattered that much, considering Gray’s tendency to ignore Carmen’s orders and follow his own. Just like when they first met Lorikeet, an incident that started with Gray risking the entire mission with a hunch, and ended with a knife wound in Gray’s shoulder and Amelia having to throw a rock at someone. 

She wasn’t particularly looking to meet Lorikeet again, she seemed dangerously erratic and exactly the type of person to hold a grudge, especially in regards to the whole rock-throwing incident.

Amelia did also destroy many months of her work. And burned down her shop. Yeah, that was not gonna be a pretty reunion. 

But, hey, speaking of the Harajuku mission… of destroying the clothes, the ones with the RFID tags in them. That, when used in the right way, could disable security systems. It was a pretty cool concept, even if Amelia had to destroy every single one of them because people can’t be trusted with cool technology. 

Wait a minute. 

“Hey, Gray, you remember that whole thing with the clothes in Lorikeet’s shop?” She asked. 

“With the RFID tags? Yeah, I’ve still got that jacket. Why do you ask?”

“Wasn’t the whole idea behind them was so they can disable security systems without the operative having to go near them?”

“Yeah, why… wait…” Gray said, “Is that how you think _these_ guys have been getting in unseen? Because Lorikeet’s sure as hell had enough time to get everything back together.”

“I mean, you know a bit more about the tags than I do. But it _does_ make total sense, right?”   
  


“It does!” Gray said, “If they were using them on other people to get past the systems, then it’d be an open room. They’d just need to to go in and out.”

“Exactly!”

“But still, the fact that they’d managed to take so much stuff without alerting even Player…” Gray said, “Like the fact that _Lorikeet_ of all people… they must’ve been working on this for months, and without being noticed by Player _once,_ it’s pretty mira-”

The sound of a nearby car horn cut him off. 

“Regardless, we need to tell Shadowsan,” she said, “Player, did you hear that?”

“I’ll tell him,” Player said. 

“But if Lorikeet’s behind this, she’ll be here. She’ll want to test results,” Gray said, “Should we go and look for her?”  
  


“No, leave it to Shadowsan,” Player said, “You guys can start heading back to the Tuileries.”

“Okay,” Gray buckled his seatbelt (finally), and started the car, preparing to reverse out. But just as he did a head check out of the back left window, he stopped dead.

“Amelia,” he said, his voice incredibly low, as he turned the car off completely, down to the lights, “Get into the backseats, and hide.”

  
“What?” Even in the dark she could see that Gray had gone deathly pale, “What’s going on?”   
  


“Just do it,” he said, “Don’t make a noise and don’t draw any attention to yourself. Player, get Shadowsan. Lorikeet’s coming for us.”

“Shit,” Player said, “Gray, get out of there.”

Amelia stepped over the armrest and landed messily in the backseat with a _thump_. She slid into the footroom below and crouched down, making herself as small as possible. Luckily, she was good at that, if ACME taught her anything, it was how to hide in tight spaces.

Gray, however, unbuckled his seatbelt, and opened the door.

“No,” he said, “I’m not risking her hurting us. Carmen can say whatever she wants, I don’t care. I’m handling this.”

But as he got out, and slammed the door behind him, Amelia heard the _thump_ of an object hitting the seat behind him. Two objects, to be exact.   


She watches, her heart pounding, as Gray walks down the street. He pulls his coat collar up, and is caught in the warm yellow light the whole of Paris. Beside him is the spilled-ink rippling of the Seine, but how cinematic he looks is not what’s important right now. 

What’s important is the green-clad figure who’s just landed across from him. Amelia realises she’s gonna need to hear this. Going against everything Gray just told her, she cracks the car door open, just enough so she can.

“Graham,” Lorikeet said, her voice sing-song, yet rough, “Long time, no see. How’s it going down your neck of the woods?”

She had the strangest ability to both drawl and talk quickly at the same time. Her accent was just a _little_ too thick for someone from Brisbane, either she was lying or she was exaggerating her voice. Amelia didn’t know, with Lorikeet, either were viable. 

Amelia hadn’t gotten a very good look at Lorikeet before she’d knocked her out, but she’s pretty sure her hair’s gotten longer since then. That’s all Amelia knows, that, and the fact that Lorikeet looks like a Skittle themed _threat._

And she knows Gray’s name, somehow. Did he _tell_ her that?

“Oh, so you know my name, now. That’s unfortunate.” Gray answers Amelia’s question for her. He’s perfectly calm. He always is.

“Aww, don’t act like we don’t know each other. We had such a sweet moment, in Harajuku, before you destroyed a year’s worth of my work. But I’m willing to move past that…” Lorikeet stopped, “Actually, no I’m not. That was such a fucking dick move but _anyway-”_

“Lorikeet, what the fuck are you trying to do here?” Gray asked, nonchalantly, “Because we know your plan. We know what you’re doing with the tags. Sandiego already knows, and she’s about to stop you. You’ve failed.”

“Oh you know about the tags?” Lorikeet asks, and her face breaks into a wild grin. “They’re fucking beauties, aren’t they? Work like a charm, after you lot took my entire stock out I didn’t know if VILE was gonna let me make more but they did! And now, _finally,_ we’re getting results! The other operatives can’t get all pissy at me _now,_ can they? _Anyway,”_ Lorikeet took a deep breath, “That’s not why I tracked you down.”

“You tracked _me_ down? Specifically? I’d be flattered, but it’s you.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever, you hate me, I get it. I have a preposition for you,” Lorikeet said.

“Oh, great,” Gray said, “Lovely, I’m so glad- I’m not interested. Go find someone else with less sense, maybe they could help you.” 

Gray turned around, and headed back to the car. 

“W- wait! No, wait, Graham, don’t go!” Lorikeet hurried after him. “Just hear me out!”

She grabbed him on the shoulder. 

And then Gray’s hand had Lorikeet’s wrist in a vice grip. 

“Don’t you dare…” he said, “Don’t you fucking dare touch me again.”

Amelia knew enough about him to be able to pick up on the panicked undertones. 

“Don’t think I don’t know what happened to you,” Lorikeet said, “And don’t think nobody will use it against you. _She_ will. At the first chance she gets.”

Gray pushed Lorikeet away, and Amelia just caught the glimpse of a semi-circular object on the underside of her sleeve.

“Don’t bring Carmen into this,” he said, glancing back for just a millisecond.

“No-”

Gray pushed her away. Lorikeet stumbled back and Gray reached into his pocket. For the phone that Amelia realised, as she looked in the front seat, wasn’t there.

This was _not_ going to end well.

Amelia yanked it out from under the umbrella that had fallen onto the seat as well (there wasn’t any rain forecast, but Gray was prepared, she guessed?), and came back just in time to see Gray come up empty.

“Aww,” Lorikeet smiled sardonically, “Missing your little tricks? Come on, hear me out, Graham.”

But Gray had had enough. With a yell, he lunged. Lorikeet jumped out of the way, but Gray slammed a fist into her stomach. She keeled, and Gray had her pinned. It shocked Amelia, seeing him fight like that. He’d never been so brutal around her, not even while sparring with Shadowsan, and Shadowsan told them to never hold back. 

“She’ll kill you, you know,” Lorikeet wheezed, “You’ve messed up before, you fuck this up and she’ll kill you. Get out while you still can.”

“If you really think Carmen would do that then you don’t know her at all.”

“Why are you still pretending?” Lorikeet snapped, struggling, clawing at Gray’s coat, but Gray held her fast, “We both know the truth!”

Then she kicked him in the gut…

...And pulled on the back of his hair.

Oh _no._ Oh fuck, oh no.

Amelia had to do something. Because Gray just _gasped._ He gasped, and fell back onto his knees, to be shoved away by Lorikeet’s hands. 

Lorikeet stood up, and in that moment she towered over him. But she didn’t look malignantly satisfied, instead, her face was the most neutral Amelia had seen it. She just stared, eyes completely obscured by her glasses as Gray lay crumpled before her, reflected in them, shaking. 

And then she let out a pained and shocked screech, grabbing her wrist.

Gray’s passcode was never particularly hard to guess (181101), but they knew each other’s passcodes for exactly this reason. Lorikeet looked at the underside of her wrist and back to Gray, horrified. 

“What the _fuck,_ you absolute-”

She staggered back, trying desperately to regain her balance, and evidently decided to use the last of her energy getting out of there, because she high-tailed it as best she could. 

Amelia barely waited for her to leave before she bolted to him. 

“Gray, Gray, hey, look at me. Look at me, Gray,” She grabbed his shoulders. “Can you tell me what the date is?”

Gray looks at her, but he can’t seem to hold focus. His eyes are flickering around, and he’s shaking.

“I-”

“Gray, can you tell me? Remember, you checked this morning, Gray, it’s okay, just think back to it. It’s gonna be okay.”

Gray’s breathing quickens, but he stills. His hands ball into fists, scraping against the rough ground. 

“It’s… it’s…” Gray takes a shuddering breath, “The 6th of March. It’s the 6th of March.”

“Exactly, exactly, good,” she tells him, “You’re not back there, you can’t be back there, we got you back in December, it’s over, you’re not there.”

Gray stares at her like he’s seeing her for the first time. His eyes are filled with tears. 

“Do you… you promise, right? Right?”

“Of course, why would I lie?”

Gray bursts into tears. He presses himself into her coat, and she holds him tightly, even as his body shakes with sobs. 

She sits there, rubbing his back, gently. Amelia had tried guiding his breathing, when this first started happening, but he hated that. He hated nearly every little panic attack trick Amelia had in the book. The only thing he wanted was for someone to just be there until he wore himself out. 

It didn’t take long for them to figure not to touch the back of his head, but it was longer than they needed to, solely based on the fact that Gray refused to tell them. Amelia had finally confronted him in the months of Amelia’s Exile, when he was having panic attacks caused by run-ins with the kitchen cupboard doors. 

When she finally had it in her to ask, Gray described it as a reminder. A reminder that maybe none of this was real, because when he was with Bellum, none of it was. And the only way he could tell real from memory was through the pain. 

He’s ashamed of how much it makes him ‘overreact.’ But it’s Graham Marks, he could believe so much as breathing wrong is an overreaction. Amelia’s just learnt to work with that. Eventually, Gray’s sobs taper off into shuddering breaths, and then fall away into nothing. He doesn’t let go of her for a long while after that.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, after a while, “for everything.”

“It’s nothing,” she replies, “Anyone could’ve done it.”

“That’s not the point. Out of anyone, it’s you,” Gray looked at her, and raised a hand to her cheek. “You’re so much more than anyone takes you for. Even you. Never forget that.”

“God, You post panic attack is always so _sentimental._ You sound like you’re on your deathbed.”

Gray laughs. 

“Anyway, bigshot, if I’m more than I think I am, what exactly am I?”

“I don’t know…” Gray said, “You’re… mir-”

There was a loud _thud,_ and Shadowsan landed in front of them. He looked between the pair.

“Am I… _interrupting_ something?” he asked. 

They looked at each other. 

“No,” Amelia said, “No, you’re good.”

And she helped Gray to his feet.

***

Gray was unusually quiet, as they drove back to the house, but Amelia supposed that was to be expected. He looked thoughtful, incredibly pensive, and very exhausted. But they’d just been on a plane for twelve hours, that was understandable. Dawn was just breaking as Shadowsan drove them home (she didn’t even realise he _could_ drive, but he was ex-yakuza, of course he could). Amelia grabbed Gray’s hand and squeezed it, he smiled at her, but it was tired and worn. Sorrowful, she supposed. Apologetic. 

“I didn’t think Lorikeet would track you down, Gray, I didn’t realise you would be a target,” Carmen said, as regretful as she could publicly be. 

“Look,” Gray said, “I’m just glad we got out safely. All being said, it was pretty damn-”

“I swear to god, Gray, if you say miraculous one more time…”

Gray turned to stare at her.

“Lucky,” he said, slowly, “It was pretty damn _lucky._ Why on earth would I say mira-”

“Well, anyway,” Ivy cut in, “I can’t believe you tranqued her with her own invention. I can’t imagine how freaking mad she’d be.”

She leaned over Amelia to punch him on the arm affectionately, and Gray half heartedly fought her off, grabbing her sleeve.

“Actually, it was Amelia who really saved the day,” he said, “I think she deserves the celebratory punches more.”

“Wha- hey!”

Gray chuckled, reaching for his phone, as Amelia tried to dodge Ivy as well as she could in a car seat. 

“I’m surprised Lorikeet managed to escape undetected so many times,” Shadowsan said, from the driver’s seat, “She’s possibly one of the most conspicuous operatives I’ve ever trained.”

“It wasn’t just Lorikeet,” Player said, “She wasn’t the one actually taking them, she was just there because it was her technology. I checked the security footage from around the areas in the days _after_ each robbery, and I noticed that there was one person who kept making appearances. I cross referenced it with the descriptions from Moscow, and I think this may be our guy.”

Carmen looked down at her phone, then showed it to the three of them in the back seat. It was a zoomed in shot from a security cam, and it showed a blurry picture of a young, skinny male with messy hair. Amelia stared at it. She _really_ wasn’t good with faces.

“Sorry, it was the best quality I could find,” Player said.

“Hey, ain’t that the kid who was bothering us at the Bolshoi?” Ivy asked, “With the long nose and the gap in his teeth?” 

Amelia squinted at the photo. In her defence, it _was_ really bad quality, it was impossible to make out much. But physique and hair wise, it matched.   
  
“It might be…”

“It matches the description of the operative who broke Zack’s arm,” Player said, “I didn’t realise it was him until I knew what to look out for.”

_“He_ broke Zack’s arm?” Ivy asked, “He’s tiny, looks like a breeze could bowl him over. How on earth did he break Zack’s bones, not even I can do that.”

“You have clearly never met a chihuahua,” Gray said. 

“Regardless,” Shadowsan said, “The fact that none of us recognised him and his skill in avoiding our scrutiny for this long gives me reason to believe that he might be a member of the… new class of VILE.”

The car suddenly goes quiet, and everyone’s trying not to look at Gray. _Nobody_ talks about the new VILE class of operatives whilst he’s present. Or ever, really. 

Amelia glances over to him, and Gray’s sitting in that fake-calm way he sits when he’s just involuntarily tensed. He’s looking down. But then he takes an imperceptible and deep breath, and looks up, clearing his throat.

“Well I’ll keep an eye out just in case this kid wants to sell me out as well,” he says, leaning forward and patting Shadowsan on the shoulder, “Thanks for the tip, old man.”

Amelia has to cover her mouth. Shadowsan bristles, and Jesus Christ, does Gray have a _death wish?_ Even Carmen turns to stare at him, shocked. But then Shadowsan pulls into the house, and Gray’s one of the first out of the car. 

Zack opens the front door, still in his pyjamas, but very happy to see them. He and Gray hug, Gray patting him on the back in that weird, manly way Amelia’s never seen him do before. 

“Please tell me you made a sick getaway,” he says.

“Depends on what you define as a ‘sick getaway.’”

“We made a French guy crash his car,” Amelia jumps in.

“Sick!”

“Yeah, it was pretty awesome. I get why you like it so much. Just-”

“Well, we can regale you with all the details,” Carmen said, accepting a hug from Zack, “But perhaps it’s best if we do it _inside.”_

Gray’s smile fades, the exhaustion of the day must be finally wearing on him. His eyes are still red rimmed, as he looks down at his phone, even though it’s been hours since they left Paris. She wonders if he’d been crying while she was asleep.

It was dawn, at that stage where everything was cold, but also incredibly pretty, and Amelia doesn’t see it very often because she’s always been a night owl. It was darker than it should’ve been, because of how overcast it was. 

“Do you think it’s going to rain, Carmen?” She asks. 

Carmen looks at Gray, “Maybe,” she says, sounding concerned. Gray’s shivering, slightly.

“Yeah, can we go in, before whatever _bit_ me does it again?” Ivy asks, swatting whatever it was away.

Shadowsan hums grumpily in agreement, brushing something off his shoulder. 

“It was probably a mosquito,” Zack said, “You’re so dramatic.”

“I am _not_ dramatic!”

  
“Let’s just head inside,” Amelia said, walking down the path to the front door. 

“See, this is what I mean!” Gray said, “See, you guys can get bit by something and not have to wonder if you’re going to die a horrible painful death from the Vengeful Biteyface of Doom.”

“Yeah, shit,” Zack said, flinching suddenly, “Let’s go, I think it bit me, too.”

“Oh, who’s the dramatic one now?” Ivy demanded, following Amelia, “Also I’m pretty sure the Vengeful Biteyface of Doom isn’t a real species.”

“I’m sorry, are _you_ an expert on Australian spiders, Miss. Rocket Scientist?”

“Shut up, Gray.”

He laughs.

Amelia just wants to go to bed. It had been a long night, and to just lie down and recalibrate everything, preferably for several days, was way too appealing to her. She lets the red coat fall to the floor with far less reverence than it probably deserves, Amelia can’t even bother changing out of her clothes, she just wipes her makeup off, takes her earrings out and puts her locket next to her watch on her bedside table. 

The locket was a Christmas present from Mama and Papa. Amelia didn’t know what it was made out of, only that it was a pale, simple silver that seemed to work well with almost everything she owns. There was the tiny family portrait of the five of them on one side, cramming the little space with faces, but the other was empty. So Amelia could put her own photo in, she was told. She still hasn’t found one for it.

She’s wrapping her hair up when Gray knocks on her open door. 

“Yes?”

Gray doesn’t say anything. He just hugs her.

“Oh, hello…” This isn’t much of a surprise. Gray just started… doing that, in her Exile. She doesn’t mind it, it’s the closest he’ll ever get to actually expressing a Negative Human Emotion in a situation outside of extreme duress. Amelia hadn’t been sure if it was quite possible, but she was glad for the change, however slight.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“Okay, sap.”

Maybe Amelia should say something a little nicer, Gray doesn’t just _say_ it like that, often. But it makes him laugh.

“Aw, come on.”

“Look, as much as I would love to continue this,” Amelia pulls away from him, “I’m exhausted. I need to go to sleep or I will _actually_ collapse.”

“Right,” Gray stands up, “I’ll try not to interrupt you, then. Sleep well.”

“I’ll see you… tomorrow morning, probably,” She yawns, “I could sleep for that long, at this point.”

“Alright,” Gray says. He closes the door behind him without looking back at her. 

Amelia finishes with her hair, and at this point she doesn’t even want to get under the blankets. She just falls on top of her bed, and closes her eyes. It all drifted away so easily.

  
  
  


Amelia nearly falls off the bed when the door bursts open. 

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck!”

Ivy doesn’t give her a single semblance of an explanation. She just walks in and;

“Something’s wrong with Zack.”

“What?” Amelia finally recognises the look on Ivy’s face. It’s the faint anxiety that always comes with having to deal with younger siblings. It’s usually mired with both irritation and dread, but right now, it isn’t. She also realises that Ivy’s sweating. Sweating, yet shivering. 

“I don’t know what to do, he was fine when we came back, but now he’s… I don’t know. He’s sick, he’s burning up, his pulse is racing and he’s jumpy, I don’t know what’s going on.”

  
“Wha- why are you telling me? Go to Carmen!”

“I can’t!” Ivy says, “Zack… he made me promise not to… he didn’t want to bother her, he made me promise…”

“Well ignore it! If you think he’s in danger...”

“I-”

Ivy stumbles, suddenly and Amelia has to catch her before she hits the ground. 

“Shit, Ivy! Are you okay?”

Amelia realises, very suddenly, with her hands on Ivy arm and shoulder, three things:

  1. Ivy’s pulse is going so fast Amelia can barely track the beats. 
  2. Ivy’s pupils are bizarrely dilated, 



And,

  1. Ivy’s skin is hotter than Amelia’s ever felt. 



Amelia didn’t care what Zack promised. Something was wrong. Extremely wrong. They needed Carmen. 

“Ivy… Ivy, sit down. Stay here, I’m gonna go get Carmen.”

But Ivy was looking more and more out of it by the second. Amelia just sat her down on the bed, and rushed out of the room. She didn’t want to know what Zack was like, at the point. She didn’t even know what _this_ was. Was it some Covid strain? Was Amelia going to catch it, why hadn’t she caught it? Her heart was in her ears, she had to _think_ about this. 

No, Covid wouldn’t make sense, it wouldn’t act this quickly, it _couldn’t_ act this quickly. Amelia didn’t know what was going on but she did know that she needed Carmen, right now. Regardless of trust. Regardless of Amelia’s own personal feelings. 

She stumbled around the corner to the second floor landing just to see the door to Carmen’s workroom close. Amelia hurried to it, then stopped. As terrified as she was, she needed to get it together. She needed to control herself. Control her emotions into something sensical.

She needed to act like an adult. Like the person Gray seemed to see so much in.

Amelia was right in front of the door now. She could hear the conversation on the other side. 

“-How are you feeling?” Carmen’s asking, “I know what happened with Lorikeet must’ve been really… overwhelming. And finding out about Matt and Toby’s classmate. It’s okay if you’re upset about it, I’m here for you.”

“Are you sure?” Gray replies, and there’s a pause, “It’s, well, I don’t really know how to describe it very well.”

“Don’t worry. Take your time.”

“Well, okay. I mean, I’d call it a blast from the past,” Gray says, nonchalantly, “but I imagine you’re a bit tired of that old adage.”

Suddenly, Amelia hears Ivy scream.  
  


“Right, Black Sheep?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	6. Gray, Returning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg I am so tired and I hate this but I have to get it out before S4 airs. 
> 
> I'll probably come back and edit this later because idk if this is a mess or not, I am genuinely too sleep deprived to be able to tell. I'm gonna go take a nap for a week.
> 
> Enjoy!

Just because keeping up the guise of stupidity for two months straight came way too easy to Gray, it didn’t make it exactly enjoyable. But the look of absolute horror on Carmen’s face was enough for it all to be all worth it.

“Ivy!” She calls out, rushing to the door. But Gray stops her with a forceful hand on her shoulder.

“She’ll be fine,” he says, lowly. Behind him, footsteps thunder away. “They’ll all be fine. Now, Black Sheep, I think we’re due for a little  _ chat.” _

Carmen finally looked at him, and Gray, with his free arm, locked the door behind him.

“What did you do to them?” She asks, looking at him with horror.

“Nothing,” he said, “I didn’t lay a finger on them. Any of them. Well, technically. Now,” he walks forward, pushing Carmen back into the room. “We’ve got some things we need to clear up.”

“What did Lorikeet tell you?” Carmen asks, “Gray, where did you hear the name?”

Of course. She was still playing the innocent. It was smart of her, not to show her hand until her back was against the corner. It was something Gray would’ve done but now it just annoyed him. 

“Lorikeet didn’t tell me anything, it’s  _ Lorikeet. _ No, Carmen, I heard it from you.”

Gray. He still kept referring to himself as that, even after Black Sheep left. Even after everything she’d done to him, he couldn’t part with it. But he wouldn’t let anyone else use it after that point, not even his classmates. It was just Crackle, after Black Sheep. It was the only name he’d ever had that was truly his own. That he truly had control over. And he needed to show that to everyone else, to Sheena and the others especially. 

But he could never rid the name from himself, it was the mental block he should’ve been able to overcome but never could. Black Sheep’s gift to him was a curse in disguise, because now, no matter how much he scraped and clawed, he could never get it off his own skin.

So it was a small revenge, watching Carmen’s face fall with harrowing realisation. It was as acidic to him as it was satisfying. 

“You lied…” She said, like it was something new. Like it was something Gray had never done before. Though,  _ she  _ never had to watch his dishonesties unravel like their classmates did, she never had to see that, and at the time Gray was grateful for it. 

But what did it matter? Carmen wouldn’t have cared either way. She never cared what mess she left behind. 

“Why does that surprise you?” he asked, “Need I remind you that we met at a school for  _ thieves? _ What did you expect?”

“I…” Carmen stood there dumbfounded, but her shock was quickly wearing off, “How long?” She demanded, “How long have you lied to me for, to all of us for?”

Gray had to suppress an eyeroll. That is, until he realised that he  _ didn’t  _ have to suppress it, anymore. He rolled his eyes.

“Take a guess, Carmen.  _ Really _ try to think about it, what event could’ve occurred in my life that could have possibly done something like bring my memories back?”

Carmen paused, and her eyes went wide.

“Bellum,” she said, “It worked.”

“Yup,” He really drawled it, popping the final sound. 

Trying to remember anything, in the days after he’d come back, was an agony, but once the migraines wore off, the memories started coming back, polaroids slowly developing in the sleepless nights. And suddenly the weight of three and a half years was upon him.

They nearly swept him off of his feet with the force of them. And one important, overwhelming, and soul-destroying fact had emerged out of the tempest, that Carmen’s lies weren’t even the worst of what she’d done to him.

It had felt like he was drowning. But when Gray had finally hit the shore, he knew one thing. He was done with his penance, this bitch was getting what she deserved.

“So this whole time… you’ve been with VILE, even after everything they did to you?”

“Well,  _ with _ is a strong word for it, but break it down, and yes, I suppose I have.”

“Wh- I- I  _ trusted _ you!” Carmen’s voice was trembling, with fear or rage or sadness, he didn’t know and he didn’t care. 

He trusted her, once, too. Look where that fucking got him. 

“Yes, you  _ trusted _ me,” he said, shoving her away, “That’s always how it worked, didn’t it? You trusted me because you knew you could use me and then you could throw me away when it pleased you because that’s what you do. And that’s what you did.”

“What?” Carmen stared at him, confused and scared, “Gray, I’d never-”

“Don’t call me that!”

Carmen was looking at him with more and more disgust, her head shaking almost involuntarily.

“I should’ve known,” she said, “I should’ve known what you were, you always have been a liar. I can’t believe I fell for it.”

“Yes,” he smiled, he revelled in her anger, “You should’ve.”

“But how  _ could  _ you? After- after  _ everything-  _ I- I- thought we had a chance again, I wanted a chance- I loved you!”

“Loved me?” He spat it out like the burning acid it was “So when you risked my entire graduation, when you hated me for an entire year when you walked out on me, walked out on all of us, that was out of  _ love?” _ He had to stop, pause, take a deep breath to keep himself together, but this was what he was good at, “When you left me on that train to get my memories wiped, it was because you loved me?”

“I didn’t know-”

“How the  _ fuck _ could you not have known!” For just a moment, Gray loses it. But it was the most painful realisation of any, sorting through what happened that night, because Black Sheep knew  _ everything _ about VILE, especially if it was something she wasn’t supposed to. She had left him there knowing where Gray would end up, and she just  _ abandoned  _ him, until the exact moment at the Sydney Opera House when he had value to her again. 

“You know, I could’ve fixed it,” he said, “I could’ve been better, I could’ve fixed whatever it was that made you  _ ha-” _ he stops. Can’t bring himself to finish his own sentence, “I was willing to, if you’d just given me the  _ chance,  _ I was sorry, Carmen, I was.”

The worst part of it was that. Was knowing that had he just been  _ better, _ she would never have done it. That all of this was his-

No. Gray’s done with that. He controls himself again. Holds it all together again. Gray can let go of this version of himself, the one who still needs her. The one who needs her, or Matt, or Toby, or  _ anyone. _ Crackle could hide his weaknesses. He was done. 

But there was one more thing he needs to know.

“The ribbons…” he says, “Did you even  _ think _ about them?”

Carmen’s face falls, “I… I wanted…”

She didn’t. And Gray just smiles. He knows without seeing that there’s absolutely zero mirth in it. 

“And I don’t want to fucking hear it, Carmen. You never cared about-”

“Enough!” Carmen yells, her anger returning full force, “I will not let you blame this all on me!  _ You _ betrayed  _ me,  _ back in Morocco,  _ you  _ decided to be a VILE operative, you knew it was wrong and you still did it! I can’t believe you, I can’t  _ fucking  _ believe you, you try to turn this back on me, you betray your friends, you betray  _ Amelia-” _

Gray laughs, it’s sardonic and sarcastic and loud and  _ his _ . It’s becoming easier and easier to slip back into himself, it feels like stepping out of a frigid wind.

“You really wanna bring Amelia into this, Carmen, love?” he asks, “After everything you did to her, after letting her take the blame for what was so  _ objectively _ your fault? You realise how much that hurt her, right?” 

The rage boiled just underneath his skin, but this was easier to rein in. He’d been reining it in for two months now. He was walking slowly towards her, and Carmen tensed, standing ready. 

“No, you never had to see it, did you? You could never face the consequences of your own actions.”

Truth be told, he never wanted to leave Amelia, Zack, and Ivy behind, but Amelia was the reason he stayed as long as he did. He couldn’t leave her reliant on him, couldn’t leave the guilt-ridden, insecure, traumatised mess that Carmen had made her into. He had to make sure that she knew what she was capable of, that she knew what she more than who Carmen made her out to be, more than she saw herself as and more than Gray could ever believe her to be because she always had been. He tried to teach her as much as he could, before he went, and it was only after Moscow, after he was sure, that he went to Bellum with his offer.

Getting that around Player had been a feat in itself, but he had done it. She’d been delighted to see him back, but even that wasn’t enough for him. Gray couldn’t bear the thought of coming back to VILE, of coming back and having to see Matt and Toby again. To pretend that nothing had happened and they hadn’t put him through the worst pain of his life. 

Carmen glared at him, and he was close enough to see the tears that were in her eyes, “So, what? She takes the fall because you have an issue with  _ me? _ Do you know what it’s like to be betrayed like that?”

“Are you kidding me? I’m  _ here _ because I know what it’s like to be betrayed like that.” 

“I can’t believe I never saw you for what you were,” Carmen says, “I can’t believe I ever thought of you as a brother, you  _ disgust _ me.”

“Yeah,” Gray said, nodding, “Yeah, if this is what you call a sibling relationship I’m glad mine’s dead. But that’s not important, now.” 

It was time. Gray had made his goodbyes, made them to everyone that mattered, even as he stuck the Red Bellies onto three of those people’s skin (Shadowsan’s was the most difficult, but he got there, in the end). 

“Now, I need to do what I should’ve done back on that fucking train.”

He reached into his coat and Carmen lunged. She pushed him back but Gray had already gotten a grip of it. Swinging the umbrella out, he pressed once on the silver base and it glowed. Fabric fell away as what once the umbrella elongated with a series of rhythmic clicks, metal wrapping around it and slotting into place. Green light glowed faintly, and it whirred, it crackled to life, his weapon,  _ his  _ weapon, just waiting for him to use it. 

It felt like Gray was coming home. 

Carmen stopped dead. He smiled, and raised it. 

“What? Can’t handle it? I thought you were, what was it again- ‘Able to make me eat shit with ease?’ Go on, show me.”

Carmen knocked it out of the way and made a kick at him, but Gray jumped back and struck with the side of his weapon, not yet activating it. She yelped, pulling her struck forearm away but making another hit at him. Gray grabbed her wrist, spun her around and kicked out her knees from behind before pushing her forward. She stumbled. And regained her footing, staring at him.

“What?” he asked, “Expected less? We sparred together for the better part of a year, Black Sheep, did you really expect me to be incompetent? Oh, actually, you probably did. You always underestimated me.”

Gray had never minded it, because it was her.

“Underestimated you? I never underestimated you, I was better than you.”

  
“True,” Gray conceded, with a shrug. How much had he missed this act? “But did you ever consider the fact that I might’ve been holding myself back? That maybe, just, maybe, I didn’t want to hurt you?” 

He knew she could take it, but he loved her, and the thought was unbearable. 

“Trust me, I have no such qualms now.”

He didn’t want to hurt her, that night on the train, either. She’d never cared.

Carmen tried to hit him again, and he dodged, leaping back but not predicting the coffee table behind him. Gray fell back onto it, the arm holding his weapon breaking his fall. He swung his legs, one planting to the floor and one kicking Carmen. The movement was enough to get him to his feet again and he swung his taser (it was the best way he could describe it) at her. It struck her on the ribs. He thrust it forward, Carmen kicked it and he swung it back to her momentum before blocking her with it then swinging it upwards, catching just underneath her chin. Carmen stumbled back hitting the shelf behind her. Objects clattered and smashed and neither of them cared because Carmen launched both her legs into Gray’s chest.

He staggered as all the air was knocked out of his lungs. Another hit from Carmen, straight to his solar plexus, brought him to his knees, dizzy. 

“Enough, Gray,” Carmen said, towering over him. He bristled at the name. “Run back to VILE where you belong, and I won’t hurt you further.” 

Gray flicked the weapon to life and arced it towards her. He saw her eyes widen, before he was blinded by the green light. 

But then he felt a hand grab his hair and wrench him away. 

The pain was insurmountable. And Gray wasn’t quite sure where he was. Panic was rising in him, his vision was shaky and he couldn’t quite breath right. Oh god, he barely knew if any of this was real. Could this all vanish? Could the pain grow worse? He knows it’s irrational but the questions instinctively form in his mind and it makes the fear worse. 

No. Gray couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. He didn’t have anyone who could be there for him anymore. Matt and Toby are worse than nothing to him, and Amelia will despise him after tonight. Gray is completely alone, and he needs to get a grip of himself. He has to force his breathing to slow down

And it does. He’s still terrified, he’s still panicking, but when he looks at himself from the third person, he seems fine. And that’s what matters.

He rises to his feet and Carmen tries to stop him but he dodges her again.

“You can’t do this,” Carmen says, “You don’t have the-”

Gray swings. And the hit lands. Only, the weapon’s live. 

Carmen’s paralyzed. She looks at him, horrified, eyes wide and mouth held open by a force that wasn’t her own. The shock fades, and she crumples. Gray leans over her. 

“Oh, Carmen, sweetheart,” he’s not himself, anymore. It’s beautiful. He’s safe. “You really have to stop banking on the notion that I still care about you, because, trust me, love, that ship has  _ long _ sailed.”

And he kicked her, just to make sure the message  _ finally  _ got home. Distantly, there was a rattling noise, as if of a doorknob shaking. 

Gray knew what he had to do now. It was what Bellum had pulled so many strings to get him the means to do. It was the reason he’d waited for Amelia to go to sleep, what he’d drugged two of his friends and his ex-teacher with a toxic psychedelic to do.

The tiniest part of him told him not to go through with it. But he wasn’t a coward, anymore. 

Carmen looked petrified, as Gray raised his weapon and charged it. If he got the voltage right, it should only take a few seconds, and then he could leave before the smell of burnt flesh became too putrid and infested him, as it had the first time he’d ever killed someone. 

And the door bursts open. 

“Carmen, Zack, Ivy, and Shadowsan are sick. They’re hallucinating, I don’t know what’s wrong with the-”

No.  _ No. Please. _ Not her. Anyone but her.  _ No! _

Gray steps back and turns the weapon off. He couldn’t do this in front of her, he couldn’t let her see that. And he turns around to face Amelia, who’s looking at him with terrified confusion. 

“Gray,” she says, and when she calls him that his heart splinters just a little bit more. “What are you doing?”

What the fuck is he supposed to say? He takes another step toward her, weary as to the fact that Carmen was still behind him.

“Gray?”

“Amelia, I’m…” Gray stops in front of her, “Something’s happened, that I can’t explain to you-”

“Why were you standing over Carmen like that?” Amelia’s breath’s quickening, “Gray, what do you have in your hand, why were you holding it like that?”

“I…”

“He was going to kill me.”

Gray turns to look at Carmen. Her eyes were like stone.

“What?” she asks, “You can’t lie to us any longer. Go on, tell her who you really are.”

“Gray, what?” Amelia’s staring at him in confused terror, “What is she talking about, you wouldn’t, you would never-”

There was no point fighting it. No point denying it. Gray can’t bring himself to meet her eyes, he looks down, and just nods. 

“No,” Amelia says, slowly, and the fear in her voice stings like a million needles, “No, that can’t, Gray, why would you- that can’t be true, Gray,  _ please,  _ there has to be an explanation-”

“Amelia,” Gray stops, and turns back to Carmen.

“You will explain everything to her. You understand me? And if you so much as  _ insinuate _ that any of this is her fault I swear I will-”

“Explain what?” Amelia demands, shrilly, “Gray, what the fuck are you  _ doing?” _

Gray turns to her. 

“I’m leaving,” he tells her, “And if I run into Carmen again I will kill her. There is nothing you could’ve done to prevent this, and there is  _ nothing  _ you can do to stop me.”

“What?” Amelia asks, desperate and dumbfounded, “Gray, you’ve got to be kidding, what are you- why would you… the can’t be true- why? Why?”

“It’s Carmen’s place to tell you, not mine.” 

Gray can’t kill her. Not with Amelia in the room. He knew he should’ve used one of the Red Bellies on her, but she was the final line he couldn’t cross, even if he was so willing to hurt everyone else he cared about. He decided he was going to pretend he didn’t know what he was doing, when he used the fourth one on Lorikeet, conveniently removing it from the picture. 

“Now,” he says, pushing Amelia out of the way. He has to leave but he hasn’t gotten the signal yet, “Let me leave.”

“No!” Amelia cries suddenly, grabbing his wrist. “No, I won’t let you, you can’t! You can’t  _ do _ this!”

“Amelia, stop!” He’s struggling to maintain a grip on the taser as Amelia claws at it. “Stop, before I have to hurt you.”

“Hurt me? You would never-”   
  


“He won’t,” Carmen said, suddenly, “He can’t hurt someone he cares about, he doesn’t have the guts.”

So she knew. To be fair, Gray  _ had _ just told her. But he knew it ran deeper than that. And it confirmed his most painful suspicions. She saw it on the train and she saw it here, despite everything he’d done to hide it. Though, what was he expecting? Black Sheep had always been leagues ahead of him, that much was true. What made it truly hurt was the fact that this was the final confirmation. She’d used his own loyalty against him. Bellum was right. Gray was nothing but a useless little sycophant.

That, and the fact that Amelia was starting to realise it, too.

“No,” she says, quietly, “I can’t let you do this.”

Gray couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t be like this anymore, this was how he got hurt, every  _ single  _ time. It was what happened with Toby, it was what happened with Black Sheep, it was what happened with Bellum, and it was all Gray’s fault. He had to give it up. He had to lose this part of himself if he ever wanted to survive. 

He doesn’t want to cross this line but he doesn’t have a choice. This was the consequence of all his failings, and Gray has to face it. 

So just as Amelia claws at him he yanks her wrist away. She looks up at him, and as he grips tighter, the fear rises in her face.

“I love you,” he says, “And I’m sorry.”

And he hits her. The last thing he sees is the absolute betrayal on her face, before she hits the floor. Gray can’t look, can’t face it, so he just turns to Carmen, fury rising like the oceans.

“Would you like to test me again?” He asks, and suddenly what Amelia might see doesn’t matter anymore, he just wants her  _ dead.  _ But he’s left it too late. Carmen’s already regained her footing. 

And Gray was kicked sharply in the chest. He felt his ribs splintering.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed. As if on cue. His way out was waiting for him. He’d failed, he’d lost. 

“Zack, Ivy, and Shadowsan were given diluted Angel’s Trumpet,” it hurt to speak, but he continued, “Make sure you tell the doctors that, and they’ll be fine.

He then pulled the card out of his coat pocket and let the coat fall to the ground. He didn’t need it anymore. Then he turned, and left. 

Gray had put a bag on the armchair closest to the front door. It hurt, to designate his entire life to a backpack, but what choice did he have? It was here, when he was putting it down, that he made his last goodbye to Zack. The Angel’s Trumpet hadn’t kicked in yet. Gray hears him babbling, hallucinating out of his mind, and it hurts, but he had to do it.

As he walks out, into the overcast morning, there’s a flash of lightning. Thunder follows not long after. It should’ve been raining, but the air was drier than anything. 

There’s a car across the street. Normally, it would’ve garnered concern, but with everything that happened Gray imagined it would be the last thing on anyone’s mind. Ironic, really. Inside it was the reason any of today even happened.

Gray just wished  _ it  _ didn’t have to be  _ her. _

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened to you?” Lorikeet asked, when he opened the door. There was a bandage just under her sleeve, and Gray wondered if she should really be driving. The last thing he wanted to do was waste everything he had just done dying in a car crash with this idiot because she was still jacked up on the effects of what was essentially an aesthetic magic mushroom.

“I just tried to kill Carmen Sandiego,” Gray didn’t really know how he was saying it so calmly. But, he supposed, that was always what he was best at. He took a seat, and gasped in pain, which only served to make the pain worse. He needed to get his ribs looked at before he punctured a lung. 

“Shit. Really?” Lorikeet said, eyeing him “And here I thought you were supposed to be the only one who’d be able to pull it off?”

“I am,” he says, through gritted teeth. He’s in a lot of pain and  _ really  _ not in the mood for her, but she was his only option. 

“Gee,  _ someone’s _ grumpy,” Lorikeet says, “Though, if you’re really the only one who can do it, why did you decide to give up your clear window at shanking her just to slide into my DMs?”

“Hey, this was your idea,” he snapped, “You really think I’d just run off to join  _ you _ without good reasoning?”

“Oh, trust me, mate, I don’t exactly want to be in your company either.”

“Then why offer?” She’d shoved a wad of paper with a phone number and a crude self portrait in his coat pocket when she’d struggled against him. But only when she was gone did her warnings really sink in. 

He’d already failed once, with Black Sheep, and Bellum hadn’t been sympathetic to him then. She was ruthless, more ruthless than he’d ever believed her to be. If he failed again, who knew what she’d do?

And, he realised, if he could leave, without Bellum knowing, he’d have the chance at finally wiping what was left of his friends off the map. He highly doubted that the Faculty would permit him to kill two of their newest agents. But Gray was done. With everyone, with all of them. Matt and Toby could never be allowed to hurt him again.

He texted Lorikeet just before they got on the plane back to San Diego. She’d been too delirious to answer properly, then, but they figured everything out soon enough.

“I have my own reasons,” Lorikeet said, “Not that it’s any of your business.” 

She turned off Carmen’s street, and Gray looked at his bag, where he was holding it in front of his chest as tentatively as he could. It hurt to breathe. He couldn’t look back at what he was leaving behind.

Carmen had forced his hand. But, this time, he couldn’t fold. Not like last time. 

“Look,” he said, eventually, “Carmen Sandiego’s not my only target. There are others, and Bellum can’t know about that.”

Lorikeet nodded, looking at the road.

“So if any of this gets back to Bellum, including my location, I will gut you.”

Beneath her glasses, Lorikeet rolled her eyes.

“Wow. Big fucking threat. It’s not like I don’t get those on the daily,” She turned a corner, “It’s my ass on the line as much as yours here, you ain’t fucking special.”

“Oh, just drive. In silence, please. There’s only so much of your voice I can take.”

“Feeling’s mutual.” 

And as they drove off, into the night, the pain in his chest grew worse. He wanted to be sick, he wanted to cry. But he did neither. 

He was done with that.

Crackle was done. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	7. Gray, Restarting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gray decides a change is in order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, the day before the finale: I will take a break from writing!
> 
> Me, less then 10 days after the finale: And then I didn't.

Out of all the people Gray wanted to be stuck with, shirtless, on a plane back to France while they wrapped his broken ribs, this was possibly the  _ worst _ option available. 

“-so yeah, having to learn how to bandage ribs on  _ yourself _ is a fucking nightmare when it’s your first time doing it,” Lorikeet was babbling as she worked, “I didn’t even realise they were broken, could’ve actually punctured my lung with my shitty skills. Let’s just hope that doesn’t happen to you. That would be kinda annoying to have to deal with.”

Gray would take a punctured lung over this. 

Lorikeet had a place in Marseille where he could stay without VILE noticing. It was a matter of convenience, a highly unfortunate one, but Gray had an end goal in mind. He’d managed two months being able to look Carmen in the eye and pretending that nothing was wrong, he could manage this. 

“I mean I probably should’ve told someone but I’m not an idiot, that would’ve just made it worse. I suppose it was some sort of initiation, I never really found out why it happened. Not that I cared that sort of thing was par with the-”

Yes, Gray could manage this. But he’d prefer to be able to manage this without committing any more capital offences than strictly necessary.

“Lorikeet,” he growls, “If we’re going to live together, you’re going to have to learn to shut your mouth.”

Lorikeet leans back to look at him, affronted. 

“Excuse you, mate, it’s my fucking apartment.”

Gray huffs. He can’t exactly argue with that, but he’s not about to  _ agree. _

“I’m glad we never met while you were training,” Lorikeet mutters, “There’s a rule against murdering students.”

“There’s a rule against murdering _any_ operative, it’s _murder._ There’s a reason I’m with you and not Bellum. Anyway,” Gray says, “How come we’ve never met before? Not that I wish we had, but it’s kinda weird.”

“Oh, am I allowed to speak now?” Lorikeet grumbles. Gray’s not about to apologise, so she continues, “Well, uh, I preferred not to go back to VILE Island too often. It was why I got my other place. I wasn’t exactly popular.”

“Yeah, that’s not surprising.”

“I’m aware, no need to be an dick about it,” He couldn’t see under her glasses, but he knew she was rolling her eyes. 

“Anyway, I think I’ve done all I can for your ribs, but it’s probably not the best idea to do too much with them for a while. You’re on bed rest,” Lorikeet smiled at the despairing look that must’ve been written all over Gray’s face. 

“Please tell me you won’t be there for all of it.”

“Fuck, no, you’d think I’d want to?” The one saving grace of living with Lorikeet indefinitely was that Lorikeet wanted as little to do with him as he did her, “I’ve still gotta go on missions. We’ve gotta keep up the charade that you’re still in San Diego. With Sandiego, remember?”

“How could I not?”

Outside the plane, the sun was setting, and the plane was starting to get darker. 

“You can put your shirt on now, by the way.” Lorikeet said, falling onto the seat across from him with a sigh, “I don’t wanna see any more of you than I strictly have to.”

Pulling a cloth out of her tailcoat, she pulled her glasses off and began to clean them. Gray pulled his shirt back on, chest still incredibly sore, and watched as Lorikeet’s demonically red eyes glinted demonically.

“Are your eyes  _ actually _ that-”

“No, they’re contacts,” Lorikeet said, disinterestedly, not looking up from her glasses, “If I’m gonna have to deal with the photosensitivity and high risks of skin cancer, I deserve the sickass eye colour, too.”

Gray didn’t exactly have much of a clue what she was talking about, but he didn’t particularly care. 

“They’re Bellum’s invention, actually,” Gray can’t help the slight inklings of fear that stir when he pictures her, but he doesn’t want to mention that to Lorikeet, so he stays quiet, “I can actually see like a normal person, thanks to them. Full 20/20 vision.”

“Impressive, they can do what practically all visual aids were designed to do.” 

Lorikeet gives him a sharp look, “They didn’t work, for me.”

“So why the glasses, then?”   
  


“Photosensitivity. And they’re connected to my phone. But the colour’s for the aesthetic. Took a bit of work, but I got there,” Lorikeet’s being strangely curt. Maybe she’d taken Gray’s words to heart. Thank god.

“Is that why you couldn’t land a solid hit on us in Harajuku?” He asks, “Because your vision’s so fucked?”

Lorikeet’s face scrunches up, but she stays quiet for a few moments, still cleaning her glasses. She puts the cloth down, and reaches a hand into her pocket. 

“Crackle,” she says, eventually, “Could you toss me that roll of bandages right next to you?”

Gray quite literally tosses it toward her, not wanting to put in the effort of moving his arm too far. It unraveled in midair. But Lorikeet’s hand moved so quickly it was a blur, and the bandage hit the floor, it’s loose tail pinned to it by Lorikeet’s blade. 

Lorikeet hadn’t even looked up from her glasses. 

“What the fuck.”

“Insult my skills again, I spent four months learning that move,” Lorikeet smiled, gleefully, “I’ll be damned if I don’t get to show it off. I’ve always had a natural knack for projectiles, despite my fucked up eyesight. Spent years training it. I’ve gone toe to toe with Paper Star, sure, I technically lost, but it was only on a  _ technicality. _ And that wasn’t my fault.” 

Ah, Paper Star. Gray had few encounters with her, but enough to leave an impression (any meeting with Paper Star left an impression, to be fair). He’d met her when he went looking for Black Sheep, who, at that point, hadn’t wanted anything to do with him. 

“So, explain Harajuku.” 

Harajuku had always been a complicated memory for him. But now it was almost unbearable to think about, because the Zack who cared about him and the Amelia who trusted him were now long gone, all by his hand. Gray hoped they’d gotten Zack to a hospital by now. He hoped he hadn’t hurt Amelia too badly. He hoped…

What did it matter? He’d hurt them both more than any physical wound or poisonous plant ever could. He had to accept that fact. He had to live with it. 

“I… well…” Lorikeet looks shifty, putting her glasses back on, obscuring her eyes. “I only try to land hits where it’s necessary.”

Gray stares at her, bewildered. She can  _ not _ be saying what he thinks she’s saying. 

“Wait, are you telling me it’s a  _ moral  _ thing? Lorikeet, what the hell, are you a VILE operative or not?”

“Imply that I have a strong sense of morality again and it’ll be the last thing you do!” Lorikeet snapped, in a rushed voice. She squeezed her hand into a fist and pulled it up to her collarbone, Gray didn’t know why.

“Okay, okay, no need to flip shit,” He says, “But these are VILE operatives I’m planning on taking out, I can’t have you getting in the way of that.”

“I am not  _ flipping shit,” _ Lorikeet huffs, “I don’t care what you do to Magpie and Giselle, it’s not me the Faculty will get mad at.”

Magpie and Giselle? 

It doesn’t take long for Gray to figure it out. It’s been two months since he found out the truth, but it’s the first time he’s ever heard his friends’ codenames. And all he can think about is, why Giselle? Toby had always loved magpies, but why Giselle? Matt never showed any connection to the ballet, and what other reason would she have to name herself after the protagonist?

Gray has to pointedly remind himself that he doesn’t care enough to find out. 

“How did you know who I was targeting?” He asks, instead, because he never told Lorikeet anything about his plans. Her help wasn’t even wanted, she was just, unfortunately,  _ there. _

“Who else would it be?” Lorikeet said, “Thanks to your friends - your other friends - word that the two newest agents were connected to Carmen Sandiego’s first victim spread pretty far. Like, even  _ I _ found out about it, and people don’t talk to me. There was speculation that it was the reason they were even recruited, but rumour has it it was actually because they stole a necklace off Countess Cleo’s  _ neck.” _ Lorikeet raised an eyebrow, “Did they?”

Gray shrugged. It could’ve been Cleo’s, she was there that night, but Gray didn’t care. It was Amelia’s necklace now. But, Gray hoped she’d throw it away. He couldn’t bear the thought of her latching on to the memory of him. “What do you mean, other friends?”

“You know, your classmates? The bitchy one, the nice one, the French one? Fucked if I remember their names. They missed you a lot, that’s for sure. No clue why, though.”

They missed him? Gray couldn’t bring himself to reply. He never actually thought that his classmates would actually miss him, after all, they were the ones who took him to Bellum in the first place. He wasn’t sure if he wanted them to miss him, the last people he thought would do that stood by while he was tortured into oblivion. Did they know it was going to bring his memories back? As much as it pained him to admit it, he figured that they probably didn’t care. 

Gray thinks back to the conversation with El Topo in the van. Did he actually mean what he said? Gray still wonders if Antonio knew what he was consigning Gray to. He knows how VILE missions work, he knows they could’ve had no clue what was actually about to happen. 

But Matt and Toby had to have known. They wouldn’t have done it, otherwise. Right?

Gray doesn’t want to think about his classmates anymore. He doesn’t want to think about anything else, anymore. He turns away, and hears Lorikeet doing the same.

Then he hears the rhythms of her half inch long nails tapping against something, and sighs. 

It was going to be a long flight.

***

Gray had never been to Marseille before, but twelve hours on a plane with Lorikeet had worn him out enough that he didn’t care for the scenery. It was just loud, and kind of annoying. No wonder she lived here. 

One thing he  _ did _ learn about this city, however, was that it didn’t have elevators. He had to climb four flights of stairs on broken ribs, and wanted nothing more than a swift end for himself. Lorikeet unlocked the door and walked in, not caring that Gray had to stick his arm out to stop it from slamming in his face.

There was a surprising amount of sense to Lorikeet’s apartment. In the room Gray had just walked into there was a couch, a coffee table, and armchair, a TV, and very little else in lieu of decoration. Behind that the room was split into two halves, a tiny kitchen and what was obviously a workspace of sorts, a sewing machine and stacks of containers around it. It was the mannequin, however, that caught Gray’s attention, first. 

“Is that my suit?” He asked, staring at the familiar blue and black. He loved that thing.

“Huh?” Lorikeet turned, “Oh, I figured you’d need a new one. Pretty sure your old one got set on fire in some sort of Viking funeral… or something, because they didn’t have it, which is weird. Well, if they did, I couldn’t exactly ask for it. Anyway, that one should fit you pretty cleanly, all’s hoping.”

“You know my measurements?”

“I had them on file, but I had to account for any changes in the four years since you’ve worn it,” Lorikeet said, as if having his measurements on file was a completely normal thing to do. Gray stared at her pointedly.

“On  _ file?” _ He asked, when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to explain further. 

“Yeah, that’s what I- oh, oh right! From last time, I meant from last time,” Lorikeet said, finally registering the look on his face, “I was the one who designed your original suit, back in 2016. Well, consulted is a better word for it. I was asked we figured it needed extra tech, considering you had a tech-based specialty. In fact if I hadn’t been on a mission at the time I would’ve made the whole thing. Honestly, it would’ve been better for it, Marquise’s insulation work was shoddy at best, but this one should work a charm, I tested it myself.”

Gray had, unfortunately, come into contact with that ‘shoddy insulation work.’ There were certain weak points in his suit that he just assumed were inevitabilities (a dare/experiment with Le Chevre and El Topo highlighted the majority of them). Anyway, insulting Marquise’s work was like poking a sleeping bear,  _ everything _ got back to her. Lorikeet was both incredibly brave and incredibly stupid. 

Gray wondered what Marquise made for Matt, what kind of outfit she would’ve asked for. He knew that Toby would’ve tried to make his himself, that he would’ve been rejected point blank, but Matt was an unknown. They were both unknowns to him now. 

“Anyway,” Lorikeet said, walking on as if there had been no interruption. “You’re room’s second door on the right, bathroom’s first, I’m going to bed, do not speak to me. Goodnight.” 

Gray hadn’t been planning on it. He heard a door close, and ran his hands through his hair, sighing. 

His backpack had enough room to carry his bare necessities, enough clothes to get by for a few days, and some of his favourite jackets (he’d had to leave his beloved collection behind, and he’d been accruing that for years). As he unpacked it, he wondered how long it would be before they cleared out his room in San Diego. Amelia would insist on doing it even though it would break her heart even more. She would insist on not crying, the same way he would. 

Maybe it was a good idea that Gray had left. He’d never wanted her to become anything like him. 

Gray had put Sparks the Second back into her umbrella form on the plane. He put her next to his pillow, always in easy reach (Gray had learnt the hard way that Sparks the First went  _ under _ the bed, not on it, where he couldn’t accidentally grab it in his sleep and nearly electrocute Tigress). Sparks the First had been lost, he supposed, because the one Bellum’s liaison offered him sure as hell wasn’t her. It was too risky to have any Sparky inside Carmen’s house (at least, any that weren’t him or Amelia), but Gray didn’t want to be in the house with Carmen without a weapon, so he sent over a draft blueprint and they sent Sparks back.

Lorikeet’s spare room smelt like dust. The bed had been made haphazardly, but the rest of the room seemed like it had been completely untouched for years. Gray struggled with the latch on the old window shutters, the paint flaking, and pulled them open. Faint light poured in, just enough to highlight the drifting dust in the air.

Gray had seen the sky change too much in a day. It was time for bed. 

He got changed, quickly, and, with some trepidation, pulled the last item out of his bag. 

It wasn’t a birthday present. Amelia had  _ very clearly _ respected the fact that Gray never did anything for his birthday, as they all did. The fact that the plushie shark had ended up on his bed, with a ribbon and a tiny, handmade card was a  _ complete coincidence. _

He couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind, even though it was too cruel to both him  _ and _ Amelia. Gray held it tight to him, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest.

***

_ Gray’s looking into eyes that are almost his own. His have just the smallest bit of green around the pupil, and these ones are a far darker shade. But the shape’s exactly the same. In fact, she looks vividly like he does. _

_ “Graham,” she says, and it’s not her voice. Gray tries to remember whose it is, because it isn’t hers, “Graham, you promised me,” _

_ Promised her what? That he’d keep her safe? That he wouldn’t leave her? That wasn’t fair, she left him. She left him off this mortal coil. But, in her defense, she was a baby. She didn’t really have much control over the matter.  _

_ He takes Juliet’s hand and pulls her along, but he already knows that it’s following them. It’s going to catch them because Gray’s trying to move faster and faster but they can’t do anything but walk, and the paths growing longer and longer and the clicking’s growing louder and louder and soon it will be upon them. _

_ “Graham?” Juliet asks, panicked. And suddenly Gray’s rooted to the floor. He can’t move. He can’t do anything but watch. But play through the memories, again and again. _

_ “No!” He can’t do this again. He can’t.  _ __   
  


_ “Graham! _

_ The needles come for Juliet first. They puncture her wrists and they puncture her ankles, and they pull her back into the enduring darkness. _

_ “Juliet!” _

_ He’s sobbing. He’s being dragged down to his knees and he’s sobbing. The clicking noise is all he can hear. It’s come close enough that he can see the wires.  _

_ There’s something cold pressing against the back of his head. Cold and sharp. Pain twinges. _

_ “It’s okay, Gray,” Black Sheep says, into his ear, “I’ll always be here. You’ll wait for me.” _

_ And she starts cutting.  _

Gray wakes up with a yell. It’s only cut off by the waves of agony and nausea that come as a cause of moving so quickly while injured. Scrabbling under his pillow for his phone, he pulls it out and is briefly blinded by the light in the dark room, before he reads the date written on it. This is always how it goes. 

He knows he’s not  _ there _ anymore, but trying to convince his base instincts of that is… difficult. Gray wishes the whole Seoul incident hadn’t made him so stupid. 

There’s a clattering, stumbling noise of footsteps and his door bursts open. 

“What the fuck’s going on?” Lorikeet demands, knives in hand and glasses barely on. She’s wearing a long t-shirt and her hair looks a disaster. She stares at him, taking him in, before flicking on the light. 

“Why in god’s name are you  _ yelling?” _ she demands.

Gray involuntarily felt the heat rise to his cheeks. Gods, this was humiliating. It was bad enough when Amelia found out and tried to hide her guilt, Lorikeet was going to flay him alive for this. 

“It was…” Gray sighs, and figures he should get this over with, “A nightmare. I had a nightmare.”

Lorikeet’s face goes blank. Gray can’t hold her gaze for much longer, and looks down.

“Oh,” she says, after a minute, “Well, fuck, mate, I thought you were fucking  _ dying _ or something.”

“Please don’t tell me you actually care whether I live or die, we do  _ not _ have that kind of relationship.”

“What? No, idiot, I just don’t want a violent murderer in my  _ house.” _

Gray wasn’t in the mood for a conversation with her. Not that there was ever a time where he  _ was, _ but right now he was nauseous and in pain and not aware enough of his surroundings to deal with her. The room was stifling, even though the windows had been open since he got here, and it was now night, it was still distinctly musty. Gray felt like he was going to suffocate. He sincerely hoped it was just stress, and not his ribs. 

Standing up, Gray pushed Lorikeet to the side and left the room. Lorikeet didn’t make any acknowledgement of it.

The bathroom was fairly average, all things considered. Gray imagined Lorikeet had an ensuite, because there was little evidence that anyone actually used this bathroom regularly. Or at all. It could’ve been a furniture display. Gray stared at his reflection, a stupid part of him wondering whether the eyes he was staring at were actually his own. Or if he wasn’t actually looking at himself at all.

It was a rare occasion, one stressful enough that it would make Gray dream of Juliet. But most times she was just a concept, a mirage. Maybe a voice, if he was really under pressure. The first time he had ever actually seen her face was the night before their final exams at VILE. The others had had to wake him up, because he’d started crying in his sleep.

He doesn’t like this version of Juliet. The hair, the two buns, it’s unfair. Gray doesn’t appreciate what his subconscious is trying to tell him. He stares, a little lost, and runs his hands through his own. It’s heavy between his fingers, a little stiff with product he should’ve washed out and just the slightest bit oily near the base. All he can think about is Black Sheep. The Black Sheep from his dream who cut him there, who took joy in it.

And that makes him think about Carmen. Even now, he’s struggling to reconcile them as the same person. Carmen, who pulled on his hair when they fought, because she knew it would incapacitate him. Gray couldn’t let that happen again. It was a weakness, he couldn’t have weaknesses, anymore. 

After all, Black Sheep had been the only one he trusted at VILE to cut his hair. And she had, in a way, been the reason for his last hairstyle change. Wouldn’t it be fitting for her to be the cause of another one?

“Do I see a breakdown haircut coming on?”

“Jesus  _ fucking  _ Christ!” He yelled, whipping around. 

Gray hated how jumpy he’d become ever since he got back. He hated how careful Zack became around touching him. How careful they all became. All Gray had wanted was his friends back, to treat him normally. 

But he supposed  _ that  _ was a sentiment short lived. 

Lorikeet jumped at his volume, and seemed to shrink a little. 

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” he said, breathing heavily,  _ “Ever.” _

“Alright, alright,” Lorikeet said, hands raised, “I won’t, just, please, don’t  _ yell.” _

Gray sighed, not saying anything. 

“But, as I said, you planning on cutting it?” Lorikeet asked, after a pause. 

“That’s none of  _ your _ business.”

“Well I was asking because I have clippers in  _ my  _ bathroom, so unless you wanna have a go at your one hit K.O. spot with your trixistick, maybe you need my help.”

Gray bristled at Sparky being called anything but his  _ name.  _ But unless he wanted to admit to Lorikeet that he’d not only assigned human pronouns (anything but ‘it’ was the rule, as with Sparks the First) to his weapon, but nameed it, he decided to keep that to himself. 

And, regrettably, as much as Gray despised the idea of admitting it, Lorikeet had a point. But did he really want to go through with this? There was a reason he grew his hair out in the first place, he’d wanted to do it, all his childhood, but most of his childhood was spent needing to make sure every aspect of his appearance was worthy of his parents approval. Gray started growing it out around seventeen, and it was only then could he look in the mirror and finally feel like he’d become himself. 

But he  _ was  _ still himself, though. Crackle wasn’t the Hyde to Gray’s Jekyll, he hadn’t placed his self on the bartering table with VILE, there was no trade off for what he’d done. To think that would be cruel denialism, pretending that the version of him that had betrayed the people he loved because the people he loved betrayed him was some distant, different entity. That the person he once was could be brought back. That the person he is now is separate from that. 

Crackle was just a name. Gray had to acknowledge that. He had to acknowledge the things he had done. Acknowledge that  _ he’d _ done them. And nothing he could do to his hair would possibly change that.

But that just left one big fact for him. One that seemed to make the decision for him.

“Fine,” he said, “Get the clippers.” 

Lorikeet grinned. Her smiles always looked so malicious, but maybe that was because he couldn’t see her eyes.

“Hang on, lemme put my contacts in, as well.”

“What?” He demanded, “Wait, Lorikeet, you’re not doing this. No way in hell are  _ you  _ doing this.”

“And no way in hell am I letting anyone who wears clothes  _ I  _ made walk around with bad hair. Anyway, I’ve been cutting my own hair for ages, I know what I’m doing.” Lorikeet pulled her hair up and turned her head, showing Gray an undercut of close cropped pale hair.”

“Also,” her voice was just the tiniest bit quieter, “I can be a bit more careful around your whole… thing, than you could.”

There was no sympathy on her face. Gray paused, mulling it over. This was already stupidly impulsive, he might as well. 

“Fine,” he said, eventually, “But you better not fuck this up.”

Lorikeet hurried out of the room, and returned a surprisingly short amount of time later, blinking rapidly, glasses and clippers in hand. 

“Alright,” she said, putting the glasses on and moving in behind him. Without her shoes, she was a couple of inches shorter, “What are we doing?”

Gray stared hard at his reflection again. What was he doing? This wasn’t a good idea. There was only one other operative he’d ever trusted with his hair before…

“Cut the back,” he said, “Cut it so it can’t be pulled.”

“I’ll start there, first, then,” Lorikeet said, surprisingly authoritative. The room was filled with the whirring noise of the clippers, “I’m gonna warn you, this won’t hurt, but there will be pressure, be prepared for that.”

“I know,” Gray clutched the countertop in preparation. 

“Okay, I’m starting now,” Lorikeet said.

Gray stared at his knuckles as they turned white against the porcelain. He forced himself to steer his breathing, to control it. But Lorikeet was surprisingly gentle, still blunt, but careful with her work. She warned him every time she got back to it.

“Dude,” she said, eventually, “Those are some sick fucking scars.”

“What?” 

Gray reached back, and sure enough, he could feel the raised skin of scar tissue at the back of his head. They seemed linear, and they were just below his skull, to the sides where it met his neck, “Shit.”

“You didn’t know you had them?” Lorikeet asked, “I mean, they look old.”

Gray didn’t want to think about where he got them. If he couldn’t remember, it probably wasn’t very pleasant. 

“Are you done?” He asked, trying to change the subject. 

“Should be. No one should be able to pull on it anymore, and I took a little off the sides so it wouldn’t look weird. But it won’t defend you against blunt impacts or the like.” 

“I know.”

“You are aware that if you’re gonna wanna be able to pull this off, you’re gonna have to do something about that, right?” Lorikeet asked, “Like, you can’t have so obvious a weak spot.”

“I  _ know,” _ Gray didn’t need someone else telling him that, “If you’re done, would you mind? I need a minute.”

“You… want me to leave?” Lorikeet asked, sounding, for the first time, unsure, “Fine. But, just one more thing,” She was standing in the doorway, “Had, um, had I known about your whole… thing, I would never, uh, have done what I did back in Paris.”

Gray turned around to stare at her. Lorikeet didn’t seem like the type of person who’d have those types of rules. It was ill-fitting, for an agent.

“Take it from someone who knows, you need to let go of that moral code. It’ll get you killed. Or worse.”

“Huh,” Lorikeet said, offhandedly, “And wouldn’t  _ that _ be cause for celebration.”

“Not if it gets in my way,” Gray said, but she was already gone. He turned back to take in his reflection. 

It didn’t look awful. But Gray had to fight off the feeling that he didn’t look like himself, anymore. But what did that matter? He still  _ was  _ himself. Nothing could change that, now.

Anyway, maybe that was a good thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man writing the end of this kinda made me sad.


	8. What's So Wrong With Black Sheep? Amelia Discovers Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia gets answers. She thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man this is the fastest a chapters gotten done I hope you all enjoy it!

Amelia Diallo should, for all intents and purposes, be at home, on bedrest. Only thing is, she doesn’t even know where home is, anymore. Carmen’s made it very clear they’ll have to evacuate, to where, not even Carmen knows. Not that Amelia knows if she could even stay in that house a day longer.

She’s supposed to be on observation, now, her wounds already been treated. Though, it’s done nothing for the bile that seems to be constantly rising in her throat, but the only cure for that… is gone. Long gone. To where, Amelia doesn’t know. She doesn’t know anything, anymore. She was supposed to know, she knew these sorts of things, she knew  _ him. _ She knew him, right? He would never. He wouldn’t. 

He did. 

So here she is. Outside a hospital waiting room that reeks of antiseptic and clinical sympathy. They haven’t been out of a two kilometre radius of the hospital since the morning, and it’s now nearing dawn, the next day. It was too dangerous to go back to the house, who knew how long it would be until…  _ he  _ told VILE where they were, and who knows what could be waiting for them. They were waiting for Zack, Ivy, and Shadowsan, so they could get whatever was necessary and evacuate as quickly as possible.

To where, not even Carmen knew. 

But it’s okay, it’s okay! It’s going to be okay it’s going to fine, right? Gray wouldn’t have hurt them too badly! He wouldn’t, Amelia can pretend that this is fine. It’s fine! Everything will be fine, it will be. It’s just a joke, it’s all a joke, it’s…

Amelia stands up. Off of the wooden bench. She’s done this before. She’ll do it again, before the night is through. She walks, down the cold cement pavement. Forward, five steps, turn around, walk back. Keep it together. Keep it controlled. She’ll do this all night, if that’s what it takes. 

But the one thing Amelia Diallo won’t do, is cry. She won’t kick and she won’t scream, but first and foremost, she will not cry. She will hold herself together. She will grow up. She will make Gray proud. Right?

Right?

_ Right? _

Carmen’s sitting next to her, and though it could be Amelia’s potential concussion, she’s never seen Carmen look like this before. Carmen’s staring straight ahead, Carmen’s barely aware of anything that’s going on around her, and Carmen’s been looking like that all day. Exactly like Gray did, on the way back from Seoul. 

Amelia didn’t know what was going on then. She doesn’t know what’s going on now. Carmen had been trying to mitigate the others, when Amelia came to. All she knew was that blood was dripping down her forehead and she was alone. Completely alone. She should’ve known the dreams were prophetic.

She should’ve known Gray.

Amelia forces the tears back, forces all she still feels away from where it will be obvious. 

She still has no idea what happened this morning. She doesn’t know if she wants to. He loves her, he’s sorry, he’s gone. Gone. Amelia knows it. But she doesn’t believe it. He loved her. He wouldn’t. He loved her right? Graham Marks was the best liar Amelia had ever met, but he wouldn’t, not to her, not about this… he wouldn’t… he loved her… he  _ loved  _ her… she couldn’t...

She couldn’t keep falling to pieces like this. She shoves her hands in her pockets so Carmen can see them shake. 

Amelia Diallo doesn’t know the whole story. There are things that happened in that room that she doesn’t understand. But the only one who can tell her is right beside her. And Amelia doesn’t care if it’s a bad time, Gray was her best friend as much as anyone else’s (which, in retrospect, was that even anything at all? Did she even mean anything to him at all?)

“Carmen,” she sat back down. Carmen squeezed her eyes shut, and turned to her. 

“I guess you want to know what’s just happened,” she said, and her voice was so hollow, so despairing, and so unlike anything Amelia’s ever heard from her. She knows the feeling all too well. 

But she also knows that, if Graham Marks was the liar, Carmen Sandiego was the secret keeper. And that all this could only mean one thing. Amelia was done with these games, she couldn’t… not after everything...

“What was he talking about? What’s Black Sheep, why did he…” Amelia can’t keep track of all the questions, she doesn’t know which one to ask. Gray’s tossed the moving parts of her mind to the floor. 

“Why did he…”

“Betray us? Try to kill me?” Carmen asked, for her “I’m trying to figure that out for myself. But…” she let out a sharp breath. 

“When Bellum took him, she did it to try and bring his memories back. I thought it hadn’t worked - he told me it hadn’t worked, but it had. He… he just lied about it.”

What does that even mean? What is Amelia supposed to even do with that? He got his memories back? He lied about it? Yeah, no fucking shit, he lied to all of them. He lied! But what does that matter? What does it matter now? Amelia holds the tears back. What does it matter? No feeling inside her dissipates.

“You do understand how little sense that makes to me, right?” She sounds dead calm. She does not feel it, “Carmen, what did you hide from us? Tell me the truth.”

Amelia’s done trying to mince her words. She had time for being gentle when she didn’t have a best friend who’d just betrayed her. Anyway, Carmen hadn’t exactly been gentle with her, after Seoul. There’s a confused sort of rage prickling in her ribs. How could she? How could she… 

How could she,  _ what?  _

Amelia doesn’t know. 

Carmen looks up, it looks like she’s praying, even though Carmen’s always been her own highest power.

“Black Sheep…” Carmen looks her in the eye like she’s holding herself to a promise, “I’m Black Sheep. Gray, he was referring to me.”

The more Amelia learns the less she understands. She’s starting to feel the urge to be sick, again. How can she possibly process all of this? She digs her nails into her arm, as subtly as she can. 

“What? Why? Why would he- why do you-”

“Because it’s my name,” Carmen continued, her voice shakier by the second, “It’s the name… the name I was given, by the Faculty of VILE,” she took a breath. “Who raised me.”

  
  


…

…

…

What.

“I was raised on VILE Island,” Carmen continued, but Amelia’s ability to comprehend what was going on was eroding even further, “It was where I was taught everything I know. Shadowsan discovered me in Argentina, when I was a baby, and took me in.”

“Shadowsan? He - what, he was with VILE - what? _ What?” _

“I was raised to believe that stealing was a game, that it was something fun, and harmless…” Carmen ignored her question, “but when I was sixteen, I… learnt the truth. That it was actually hurting people, that it was wrong. My entire childhood was a lie. So I left. I defected, Shadowsan too. That’s why VILE’s so intent on hunting us down.”

Amelia felt like her mind had been thrown into disarray before, but now it feels like everything’s at a complete standstill. She... doesn’t actually think she’ll be able to process this. After everything,  _ this?  _ What the hell is she supposed to do with  _ this? _

“So… Player?” She asks, “Zack, Ivy, they’re also…”

“No, they were never with VILE. I met Player when I was training, and Zack and Ivy after I left.”

Amelia doesn’t know what to say. Is there anything she  _ can _ say? This entire night has been curveball after curveball, and Amelia’s just supposed to be able to accept this, on top of  _ everything?  _ There’s that anger again, that horror, that… that… Amelia doesn’t know. She doesn’t  _ know! _

It’s not enough. Carmen’s words aren’t  _ enough. _ Not enough to explain why Gray betrayed them. It doesn’t explain how Gray even  _ knew. _ And why would he care so much? Was he really so torn up about his friends becoming VILE agents that, when he discovered Carmen’s past, he lost his shit? But why leave her there? Why attack  _ her, _ that wasn’t him, that  _ wasn’t _ Gray. He would never hurt someone he cared about like that. He would never. Never. So does that mean… did he never truly care about her? No, no, no no no no no, that couldn’t be right that  _ couldn’t be. _

It couldn’t.

So why?

Carmen always seemed to know him so well, in a sad sort of sense. It was enough even for Amelia to notice it. 

And Gray once said that it felt like he’d met her before. 

And he refused to believe that Carmen would ever lie to him about his memories. That Carmen would ever lie to him about something that important. So when he found out she knew about Matt and Toby...

And Amelia’s never been particularly good at maths, but if this was making proper sense to her (it really was not), Carmen would’ve been sixteen around four years ago, five, including 2021. So, if Gray had returned two years ago, missing at least three years of memory...

Judging by that, and his behaviour… 

Holy fuck. 

Actually, Amelia can’t even bring it in her to be shocked. All Carmen Sandiego has ever been was the secret keeper. Again and again and again and again, did she not think about the consequences? Did she never learn? There’s that anger again, it’s like needles.

“Carmen,” it’s so,  _ incredibly, _ apparent in her voice that she’s done fucking around. She doesn’t know if Gray would be proud or ashamed of her, “Tell me  _ exactly _ how Gray ties into this.”

Carmen knows what Amelia’s asking, that tired, terrified, look in her eyes tells her so. They both understand the implications. The anger prickles. Amelia squeezes her eyes shut tight.

“I’m the reason he even goes by that name,” Carmen said, eventually, “I never thought Graham suited him. When I started training, when I’d just turned sixteen, Gray was one of my classmates.”

And Amelia feels nothing. 

Pointed nothingness. It rests heavy on her shoulders, it pushes her down, further and further away from everything she knew. Even as all the questions slide into place like tumblers in a lock. 

Why Gray knew so many things he shouldn’t have. Why he knew how to pick locks and disable security systems seemingly on a whim. Why the VILE agents seemed to recognise him, the incident with Tigress. Why everyone was so careful around him, why Carmen had been so panicked when they got him back from VILE, before he had woken up. 

Why Carmen had even asked him to join in the first place. It wasn’t to find his friends, it wasn’t even to protect him from them. It was so Carmen could try and stop him before he discovered too much. 

Amelia has to screw her eyes shut again. She will not cry. She. Will not. Cry. Even as all the emotions rise up, even as she has to stop herself from shaking. Even as her head starts pounding, all over again. She will not cry. 

She can’t. 

“Gray... was a VILE agent?”

“His codename was Crackle,” Carmen said. She looked away, suddenly, “And, when we trained, he was like a brother to me.” 

A brother? So, in a way, was Gray once to Carmen what he was to Amelia? 

(Though, as much as Amelia loved Gray, she’d rather have to coordinate James’ romantic endeavors for a week than be related to him. She didn’t want to touch whatever was going on  _ there _ with a ten foot barge pole.)

No, it couldn't be the same, Amelia could never have kept that from him. Amelia lost so much of her adolescence to secrets, and now, thanks to Carmen, she’s lost her best friend to them, too. 

“Why keep that from him, then? Why didn’t you  _ tell him? _ ”

“When we were… He betrayed me… he... he wasn’t the person I thought he was,” Carmen stared down at her hands. “It wasn’t the reason I left, not remotely, but still… I didn’t see him again for two years.”

“So what happened? Carmen, what did you do?”   
  


Carmen had her reasons, Amelia reminds herself. Carmen did what she thought was best. But Carmen should’ve known better, Carmen could’ve prevented this from ever happening, Carmen should’ve... Carmen should’ve- Carmen should’ve _done_ _something._

Amelia’s already torn her nails down to the bed, she still wrenches the one on her index finger further, tearing it away from the skin. She knows it’s going to bleed. 

“Gray, he tracked me down,” Carmen said, “He tried to get me to come back, and when I refused,” Her eyes were bright, “I had no choice.”

“That doesn’t-”

“The next time I saw him, Amelia, was back in Sydney. VILE wiped his memories, I didn’t know they were going to do that. He… Gray… he seems to think I knew, but I didn’t.”

“Didn’t you? Really?” Amelia knows she shouldn’t ask it, not now, it was cruel and unfair but  _ maybe,  _ just maybe, if Carmen hadn’t…

“No,” Carmen says, softly, “Amelia, what are you-”

“You have to understand,” the nail on her middle finger goes, next. The sting is overpowering, Amelia’s voice is cold. “That, at least how I see it, you’re honestly too happy to lie to us when it suits, so-”

“What? I would never lie about something like that.”

“But you were willing to keep something as important to Gray as both his friends’ locations, what happened to him in his missing years, as well as how he lost his memories, from him.” Amelia’s voice is so controlled, god, if she didn’t feel five steps off a total breakdown, she’d be revelling in how  _ good _ it feels not to sound it. Her ring and pinky nails break off. 

“Surely, now, you understand why I had to do that? You saw what happened… you saw...”

“Yes, but this is the second time something like this has happened because of you keeping something from him-”

“I had no choice, what could I have done? ‘Hi, Gray, you were once a dangerous superthief, but it’s okay, so was I, and we were friends, and now you have no memories because of it, surprise! Yeah, that would’ve gone down well.”

“He had a right to know!” Amelia bursts out, “He had a right to process that on his own terms! If you’d given him the  _ chance  _ to make a decision on how to react to that sort of information… maybe… maybe this would never have even  _ happened!” _

She doesn’t know where she’s found the guts to say it. Gray would be so proud of her. 

And the knowledge of that stings, now, because now she knows it’s probably not a good thing.

“He made his decision, he-”

“Yeah, after being kidnapped and tortured, I’m pretty sure that counts as duress-”

“I did what was best for him,” Carmen said, voice stronger with confusion and anger, “I knew him, I knew how he’d react if he found out, I knew it would not be pretty, I just didn’t-”

“Neither of us knew him, he made sure of that! He’s… He’s…” Amelia’s breathing is almost impossible to control, “He wasn’t your toy, Carmen, you couldn’t just decide, what he deserves to know, how he can or will react to things at your whim!”

“It wasn’t at my whim, it was to protect him!” Carmen’s staring at her with a desperate, miserable anger, “Are you, are you implying that this is my  _ fault?” _

And Amelia’s rage immediately dissipates. Suddenly, she’s just filled with horror. At everything. Her muscles are heavy, she doesn’t feel like she’ll ever be able to move again. Her fingers are bleeding. 

She stands up, just to make sure she still can.

“No… no. It’s not your fault. I’m sorry. It’s... nobody’s fault but... Gray’s,” She’s walking down the pavement again, she thinks. “That was over the line, I shouldn’t have-”

“I understand,” Carmen replies, voice strained, “Amelia, I’m sorry. This must be really awful for you-”

“I’m fine.”

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re allowed to be-”

“I said I’m  _ fine.” _

Carmen doesn’t reply. Amelia doesn’t turn back to look at her. She doesn’t know if she can. 

Then she hears soft sobbing, and her heart twinges. She turns.

Amelia’s never seen Carmen cry before. Not even after Seoul. But there’s no guilt, no horror, inside her, no  _ nothing. _ She just puts a hand on Carmen’s shoulder, because, at this point, it’s the most she can do. 

“I thought, I thought… I could’ve fixed it. I thought I had…” Carmen sobs, “How could he, how could he? I thought I got it  _ right…” _

“I know…” Amelia doesn’t know what else to say. 

“What did I… What do I tell Zack and Ivy? That he’s gone? That I failed?”

Shit, Amelia hadn’t thought of that. They were too out of it for Carmen to be sure that they would understand the severity of what was going on. Amelia looks down at her practically destroyed nails, bloody and messy, and squeezes Carmen’s shoulder, ignoring the sting. She could handle this.

“You won’t have to tell them anything,” she said, “I’ll do it.”

Carmen looks up at her, “You? Can you, could you even-”

“You’re not in any state to. Please, I’ll be able to handle it,” Amelia insisted, “I won’t fall apart, not like- just, it’ll be better for us both if I do it.”

Amelia knows she can. She doesn’t have a choice. She’s nineteen years old, nearly twenty. She has to start acting like an adult. Gray would be proud of her, right? Was this what he wanted?

She shoves her hands into her pockets. The sky has lightened to a royal shade of blue.

This had to be. 

***

Zack’s got more tubes hooked up to him than a cyberpunk artwork, Amelia didn’t know what half of them were for, but he’d be discharged once the Angels Trumpet was out of his system. And then they would be gone, out of San Diego forever. So Gray could, hopefully, never find them again. Amelia didn’t want to confront how unbearable the thought is. 

“Amelia?” Zack asks, “that you? Your hair’s… out?”

Amelia hadn’t had a chance to put it up, not in the immediate aftermath.

“So it is,” she gave him a half-smile, even if she knows it’s best if she gets this over with. “How are you feeling?”

“The absolute worst,” Zack replies, “What even happened? I remember talking to Gray, and then… things got weird.  _ Really _ weird. Wait, where  _ is _ Gray, where’s Carmen? Are they okay?”

Amelia closes her eyes. She won’t cry. She won’t.

“It’s…” Amelia takes a seat by his bed, “Carmen’s fine, but Gray… Gray’s gone.”

She won’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s/o to a certain mutual of mine who helping me out with this chapter it was invaluable!


	9. Toby, and His Empty Aria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toby tries to ruminate.

There were occasions where he and Matt worked so well together that Toby sometimes forgot he was genuinely terrified of looking her in the eye.

There were times when he would see her smile as lightly and as easily as before Gray died, usually in the thrill of a fight, and that little hopeful part of him would wonder if she was coming back to him, but he’d put his hand on her shoulder and she’d recoil like he’d burnt her. 

The cuts she’d gotten from the Sandiego fight had scarred, and Matt wore them with pride. Toby saw them and wondered how much further this would cut her, and how many cuts she could bear before she broke completely. He was terrified for her. He was terrified  _ of _ her. He wanted to pull her closer and hold her and know she was alive and safe, he wanted to get her as far away from him as possible. 

When they’d gotten back from Moscow, Toby had shut himself in his room and just sobbed. He hadn’t even made it further than the door, just slid down it and cried like he was going to purge himself in doing so. He was surprised Matt hadn’t heard him, but, to be fair, she didn’t hear much of him, anymore. 

Toby didn’t know what to do with her, with what she’d become, there were points where he looked into her eyes and there was just so much cold anger, suddenly he was sixteen again, cowering. Years of therapy felt like they were coming undone. But who was Toby kidding, he knew this was inevitable, he knew he was going to spiral if he and Matt continued like this unfettered. 

Keeping himself here, by Matt’s side, as the creature forever hunted for the next target of her emotional blows, was his penance. Toby knew there were therapists on VILE Island that he should probably be seeing, and judging by Benedita’s tone whenever she called, she thought so too. But he needed to stay with Matt, watch her rage and scream and barely restrain herself from unleashing it all on him, because it was his fault she was like this, even if she didn’t know that. Even if she didn’t know that if Toby had just been a bit smarter, thought about the consequences of his words, Gray would still be alive.

Maybe that was why Toby was always on the knife’s edge of bursting into tears, and so constantly falling off it. He couldn’t remember a day where he hadn’t cried at least once. Maybe it was because he couldn’t tell Matt the truth, that it was him she should’ve been hunting, never Sandiego. He wore his guilt so shrouded in himself that he didn’t understand how Matt was so blind to it, but she was blind to everything except their mission and the fury she was becoming. If only she could just turn her head, just look at him with anything else but contempt, she’d see the truth. 

And it would only be worse from there. 

Sometimes, when Toby could do nothing else, he would sing to himself. His voice was barely there, soaked with tears and stalled by errant breaths, but it was there, and he would cradle himself in his own arms. It was a self-soothing technique if ever he saw one, but Toby still didn’t understand why he did it. 

Gray used to hum a lot. Absentmindedly, he’d stop if it was pointed out. In dance classes, he could never quite stand still and the songs were always stuck in his head. It tapered out of him at school, but he had an energy that was unmatchable when he was in dance classes. It had been decided, out of all of them, that he would be the one most likely to actually make a career out of it, even if he didn’t quite have the talent, he had the passion for it. But Gray was so obviously never interested in the idea, it was just a hobby to him, something he liked to do. Which was strange for him, Toby had never seen Gray have such an unabashed and unashamed interest in something like he did dance, and Toby had never seen it since. Everything else Gray had ever enjoyed was always mired in some sort of embarrassment, one that could be found hiding in even what Gray admitted openly.

Toby had always wanted to ask what Gray had been so ashamed of, particularly when there was just so much of him that was so undeserving of it. Even if the resentment that Toby loathed himself for cultivating had a place. The resentment that couldn’t shy away from the fact that Toby would’ve never have ended up like this if it wasn’t for Gray in the first place. He knew how cruel it was, it slithered and spat at him from deep in his stomach. It scared him with his own intensity. 

Toby didn’t know why El Topo and the others sold him out like that. He didn’t even know why they picked Gray, of all people, why they  _ cared _ so much. All that mattered was that Toby was smart enough to put two and two together and know what he had done. There was also the fact that Bellum said so, herself. Looked Toby in the eye like she was giving him an honourable death. He didn’t know why she did that, didn’t know what she was trying to achieve, because, after all, she’d wanted Gray alive too. She was trying to help him, save him, with and from a force Toby couldn’t see and couldn’t bear to follow. It was Sandiego who’d turned against him, wasn’t it? And it was Toby who gave her the opportunity to do so in the first place. To think, he’d trusted her in Seoul.

And all this time, he thought he knew better. 

Toby knew what he wanted, he wanted Sandiego gone. He wanted to be able to seize vengeance and pretend it was control, and believe that control would soothe him. But, truly, he just wanted Gray back again, so he could hold tight enough Toby would be scalded by him. So Toby could, maybe, forgive him for everything he’s done. Because then, at least, Toby would have a chance to, and wouldn’t have to live knowing his guilt-ridden resentment would never get resolved. Because Gray, despite his selfishness, always apologised. Always. With a strangely desperate fervour, like there was something he was trying obsessively to hide. 

And Toby just wanted him close again. Just wanted to know that he was there, because even though Toby had long outgrown the need for it, there was still safety in Gray. Still safety in the way that there had been a point in time where it could be found few places else. 

Bertie had hidden in her room and he didn’t have time to get her out and he had been panicking. He had walked down his street and the October air that was still cold despite the spring, with his hands bleeding, and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know where else to turn, it was the middle of the night, so he’d, hands slippery on the phone screen, called Gray. And Gray had come, had taken him back to his place, had patched him up and calmed him down and said nothing as Toby had spent hours on the phone with Bertie to make sure she was alright. And held him until he felt like, maybe, Toby could put himself back together again. That mattered, too. 

That was the night Dad had finally left Toby’s mother, and Toby didn’t know it at the time, but Gray had had an exam the next day. That it was right in the middle of his HSC. Gray never breathed a word of it. And the gratitude always burnt him, it felt nothing like the confused relief. 

Toby was clawing at something unreachable. He was singing his throat raw but nothing was being communicated. Wasn’t that why they sang? The Greek chorus that became the variations, the soliloquies, the arias, the songs. They sang when they couldn’t speak, when they couldn’t fit it into words. Toby couldn’t fit this agony into words, but still, still, no one could hear him. He knew, deep down, that Matt had covered her ears. From his and hers both. He cries some more.

He was also finding scars on Matt like he was finding constellations after leaving the city. They were insurmountable and seemingly appearing out of nowhere, Toby was considering cataloguing them just to make sure he wasn’t counting any twice. There was one dangerously close to the artery on her neck, small and shallow, but Toby discovered it and now understood that he would spend the rest of his life thinking about how easily that artery could be broken. He reached out, stupidly, and without even acknowledging his presence, she pulled away.

“We need to go to San Diego,” she said, and Toby’s heart sank, because he knew exactly what she meant, and exactly how this would go. Conversations with Matt, particularly in regards to Sandiego, always ended the same way. Toby came up with the plans, yes, but Matt made the decisions. And there was no arguing with her decisions. 

“What?” He asked, anyway, because Matt was angry and vicious and terrifyingly departed from what he knew of her, but she wasn’t irrational. She was smarter than this, “It’s so  _ obviously  _ a trap, we talked about this.”

It was one of the few decisions he and Matt made that didn’t devolve into an argument, a notable achievement of late. The house in San Diego was a ruse waiting to happen, that was clear. They weren’t playing into her hands, not like what happened in Bellum’s lab. 

“Do we have any other option?” Matt demanded, “We have no leads, Moscow was a bust, and I’m sick of just  _ waiting _ around here. We’re going.”

Of course it was already decided. Anger flared up inside him, at her, and at himself, for letting her get this far, to thinking she could just call the shots without even telling him. 

“So Moscow failed, that means we walk straight into a trap? Matt, that’s-”

“We can play this to our advantage, it could’ve been like Moscow - before you-”

“Before I  _ what?” _ Toby snapped. It filled him with a sickening guilt he cannot fathom, but has done nothing but ebb and pull through his blood the same time the anger boiled it. Matt brought it out of him, she brought it out of him so easily he wondered if it was actually her intention. “Fuck it up again? Ruin it for you again? You know what, you’re right, I’m not good enough cannon fodder for you anymore. Maybe you could call Rosalind instead, drag her into your death trap, maybe the rest of our classmates, while you’re at it? That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

He could barely remember what it was like when they were back in Sydney, when she was the voice of reason to all of his anxieties, who could find both humour and logic in all the catastrophes. Toby didn’t know where she’d gone, and now he couldn’t even remember what she was truly like. 

“You know what I want, Toby, and if I have to drag everyone else down to get it-”

Knows what she wants? Toby doesn’t know who she is. He’d lost two friends, not one. 

But that didn’t mean he’s going to let Matt dance them both to their deaths. 

“Not everything is about what you want, Matt, not when our safety is concerned? Do I even get a say in this? Gray was my fucking friend too-” 

Matt all but snarled at him. And Toby couldn’t stop the way his breath hitched, the way he took a step back, the way he was suddenly a child again, everything he had gained of himself lost, back into the corner, the room, the  _ house, _ with this creature. This creature who claimed that it loved him. The only difference, the worst possible difference, was that Toby knew, this time, that it was the truth. 

Didn’t detract from the surprising terror coursing through him. 

“I dare you to finish that fucking sentence. I  _ dare _ you,” Matt spoke so quietly, it was like glass shattering in his ears. 

There were occasions where Toby could recall Matt as she was, when she would appear to him again, ghostlike. But it was too late, and she disappeared in the same way bright light ruined a developing photo, and the overexposure turned her into this unfathomable thing she had become. 

But Toby stood down. He bit his lip, and nodded, even though Matt couldn’t see him. They both knew what the outcome would be, the moment Matt suggested the idea. 

Toby’s throat was aching, he couldn’t keep up this performance, she wasn’t even watching anymore. Why bother with the song?

Toby said nothing at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, this time last year: And Gray's going to have two friends, and they're going to mean the world to each other and love each other very much :)
> 
> Me, now: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH


	10. Days of The Bangkok Summer! Amelia's Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia handles it better than any of them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I actually finished this chapter on time what the hell

Bro (derogatory):

_Ur avoiding our calls_

_Why_

_Are you ok? did something happen?_

You:

_I’m fine. Everything’s fine._

Bro (derogatory):

_That doesnt sound like an everythings fine type of fine_

_Why arent u picking up calls then? Papas worried_

_Did you get injured?_

_U can tell me if you did_

You:

_busy_

_Im fine tho_

_can’t talk now_

A drop of sweat is rolling down Amelia’s nose. She doesn’t bother wiping it away, there’ll just be another one coming. Amelia can already feel it trickling down her spine, drop after drop. Bangkok feels like a wet blanket covering her, dragging her down, and they’ve been standing here for what? Five minutes? Amelia wants to climb to the top of this skyscraper hotel and launch herself straight the hell off of it. 

“Looks like we’re back at the penthouse suites,” Carmen said, “At least, until we can find some place more permanent.”

She sighed. Carmen sighed a lot, nowadays. And she didn’t look like she had been sleeping well, but she was still smiling, still holding herself up even though exhaustion was now buried deep in her bones. Amelia knew the feeling, only she had a better brand of concealer, apparently. She could look into the mirror and achieve the unachievable, not look good, but look fine. Perfectly fine, not even like she was trying to cover herself, disguise herself, just, naturally fine. Amelia could look into the mirror and know she was handling this better than all of them. Because she was. 

She is. 

It’s an objective observation. Beneath her, the ranking goes as follows, and Amelia’s analysed this enough to know there’s no room for error. There couldn’t be any room for error:

Player: No lingering effects beside shock. Mainly concerned with others, doesn’t bother Amelia too much, aside from the… questions onto her wellbeing. 

Shadowsan: Discernible change, but minimal. Kept to himself. Now gives Amelia fair more deeply analytical looks than usual. Definitely thinks he could’ve prevented it, somehow.

Ivy: Even allusion to him angers her. Doesn’t let anyone say something that could even be associated with Gray. Distracts herself by focusing on everyone else, mainly Carmen and Zack. Amelia’s only avoided her concern by avoiding her completely. 

Carmen: Amelia will not speak to her beyond the bare minimum required. The grace in which she holds herself is so forced she’s not quite Carmen anymore. Just a painted doll in red, now, all dressed up for the masquerade. Uneating, unsleeping. Everyone’s worried about her. But she’s fine, she insists she’s fine, but unlike Amelia, it’s just an insistence. And it’s so farcical even Zack can see through it. Speaking of;

Zack: Ohhhhhhh boy. 

Gray is unmentionable. Amelia would go so far as to say that it’s as if he doesn’t exist, but it’s impossible to so forcibly ignore what isn’t there. She sometimes feels guilty for even being associated with him. For the part of her that still aches for him. After all, she still wakes up terrified and alone, reaching for him before she’s too conscious to know better. But then she gets out of bed, looks in her mirror and smiles. Then she’s fine.

Anyway, even if she _wasn’t,_ there’s still no way she could say that. Because, if she wasn’t, then there would be feelings involved that weren’t allowed. She couldn’t care about him anymore; it was forbidden, after what he’d done. So if they were to discover some hints of the unthinkable - some hints of _love_ \- within her… Ivy would have her head. 

“Come on,” Carmen says, gently, tiredly, “Let’s go settle in.” 

The apartment’s ornate and spacious. Amelia immediately feels suffocated by it. But even with the space, it’s nothing on the house, and it only has four bedrooms. Zack and Ivy immediately offered to share - Amelia could’ve kissed them both, but that would involve admitting that she would have _reason_ to need her own space, and that might imply… might imply the absolutely _inadmissible._

The living room’s got that Ikea Clean to it, the perfection, the unattainability. Get some edison lights and it’s a vegan cafe that doesn’t put price symbols on the menus. Dark hardwood floors and sleek furniture, people would kill for this apartment. Amelia can see the entire Bangkok cityline from the massive windows that the living room connects to. There’s even a terrace. A rooftop _terrace._ But the grey skies rendered that unusable.

But Amelia didn’t want to waste too much time admiring anything. If she was entirely honest, she didn’t even want to be here. She took the first bedroom she saw and started to unpack, not caring about anyone else’s preferences. It took a saddeningly short amount of time to get everything sorted, but she hadn’t taken anything more than the basics. 

When they got back to the house, when Player was still scrambling to get them suitable accommodation, Carmen had given them an hour to pack everything they needed. A fucking _hour_ to pack up what had been their entire lives, here was more of Amelia left in that house than the girl in question could even carry on _herself._ It was just up to the security measures they’d decided to leave in place to keep it safe. 

Gray’s room had stayed firmly closed. From the moment they had left the hospital he was the Unspoken. Carmen didn’t even have to say it, they all knew they weren’t to go in there. But Amelia snuck in there anyway, she wasn’t an ex-psuedo-ACME agent for nothing. She needed to know how much he’d managed to hide from her, from all of them.

And if Amelia Diallo wasn’t objectively, obviously fine, the normality of Graham Marks’ room would’ve broken her heart beyond repair. She didn’t know what she expected, some sort of evil scheme? A picture of all of them with their faces scratched out? Instead it was just as it always had been, except Gray wasn’t in it. His jacket collection was still there, some were missing but that didn’t mean shit, he would’ve _died_ for that collection and every single item in it. All the photos were still on the wall. The bed was perfectly made. The only thing that seemed to have changed was that the waste bin, which was filled with scrunched up pieces of paper. She thought she saw Ivy’s name on one of them, but she didn’t look through it. 

And George was gone. She didn’t know why it hurt her so much, but she knew that he had gotten rid of him, she didn’t know how she knew but she knew. Amelia never should’ve gotten him a birthday present (technically, it wasn’t a birthday present, but _still)._ He’d probably only named him out of kindness to her. 

Amelia focused on unpacking, and pushed the memory from her mind. She just wanted to shove her suitcase into the corner of her closet and never think about it again (sure, there were some scraps of paper still inside, what looked like an envelope, but Amelia the sooner she could be done with it, the better). 

Her bed looks comfortable. Amelia lays on it purely to confirm that fact. She spends the next hour confirming that fact. And the next two hours after that. It’s a perfectly valid thing to do, anyway, she doesn’t exactly have the energy to go out to the living room where the voices have yet to separate. Though night falls it’s still hot, Amelia’s still trapped in the all-pervading stickiness of this city. There’s air-conditioning, but Amelia can’t be bothered to turn it on. She couldn’t even be bothered to check her phone, even as it buzzes and buzzes.

“Amelia?” Zack knocks on her door, “We’ve got food, do you want to come and have some?”

Amelia sits up. Smiles. She goes outside and knows she looks completely fine.

***

The rain pitter patters on the roof, the tension and the moisture finally breaking, and Amelia is still awake. It’s nearly 4am in the morning, late even by her standards. Her head aches. Still, she fights sleep. Another dream woke her up, petrified, but the feeling’s long faded, she’s fine now. 

But the more she lays there the more claustrophobic she feels. This room doesn’t belong to her, it doesn’t even have the potential of belonging to her, there’s no chance of her ever settling in here. It’s someone else’s exoskeleton, Amelia doesn’t belong.

She chooses to ignore that she felt the same way when she first joined Team Red, the loneliness of it, the same way it was when she was in high school, when she had to cancel plan after plan for ACME work, when it was impossible to maintain a solid friendship as a cause of it. But she had Gray, last time, to dull the sting of four different people shaped balls of dislike. Now she doesn’t even have…

No.

Amelia creeps out into the living room. It’s still warm, and it’s still raining. As she nears the table, the only noise being the rain and the small clik-clik of her feet against the floor, she sees, through the floor to ceiling windows, a figure out on the terrace. 

It’s Carmen, who else could it be? She doesn’t even seem aware of the rain, but Amelia’s very aware of her. And she’s not up for talking to her right now. As quietly as she can, she moves past, phone in hand, looking for anywhere that isn’t where Carmen can see her. 

The penthouse has a library. Of course it does! What need do they have for a library? Amelia doesn’t know! The floor doesn’t creak, she’s the only source of sound from it, and she moves like a sugar glider, she’d _knows_ how to move silently. She pushes the library door open, to the empty, clinical shelves, dark carpet, and overpowering smell of pine cleaning solution. There were no windows, the only light source was the dim one from the doorway.

Amelia pads across the library and sits against a wall, between two shelves. Finally, she checks her messages.

Bro (derogatory):

_I ended up making friends with that girl_

_i think_

_i mean we were using the computers in library and i had a whole convo w/ her_

_about stuffs_

_im worried she thinks im stalking her_

_im not_

_we just keep running it e/ other_

_by coincidence_

_would u consider that stalking? idk ive never been stalked before. is this something girls think about a lot?_

_where are you? You havent called in so long_

_seriously, whats happened_

_im actually starting to get rlly worried_

_Amelia_

_Ameeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelia_

_Meels_

_damn_

_i miss you_

Talking to James, talking to anyone back home, was out of the question. What if they started seeing things that weren’t there? What if they thought her upset by something? What if she had to tell them about… what happened? What if she… what if she…

No. It’s not happening. She’s fine. 

She’s fine. she’s fine, she’s fine, she’s fine she’s fine she’s fine she’s fine she’s fine shes fine shes fine shes fine _shes_ _fine._

Amelia stops. Breathes. She’s fine. 

You:

_i told you. I’m busy._

_Stop blowing up my phone all hours of the night._

_Seriously, it’s annoying._

_Times zones are a thing, you know._

James doesn’t reply immediately, but she knows he’s seen it. She could almost hear the petulance in his voice. 

Bro (derogatory):

_That’s never bothered you before_

You:

_Well it does now._

_Goodnight._

James doesn’t reply at all. Amelia doesn’t regret it, though, she’s fine. 

Except now she’s struck by the urge to talk to someone, anyone. She appreciates the irony, but she wants to talk to anyone who isn’t James, or who she’s directly related to, or won’t say _his_ name, or thinks that this new apartment is a group therapy session in disguise. Because Amelia’s _handling_ it, she’s fine, unlike these idiots. Don’t they have a single _shred_ of decency?

She needs to talk before she goes insane. Amelia scrolls through her contacts, trying to find someone who could fit the bill, and would also be awake at this hour. But the more she scrolls, the more disconnected she feels from everyone she knows. It wouldn’t be like this, with him. 

But, in a moment of strange impulsivity that would’ve made Zack proud (at least, the Zack before Gray left proud), Amelia calls Player. 

“Amelia?” Player asks, surprised, but not necessarily displeased by it, “Is everything… alright?”

But, oh, why does he always have to ask it like _that._

“Yes, I’m fine,” she says, “I’m just bored.”

“Oh, so you’re just calling me cause you’re _bored?”_ Player sasses her way more than he ever would Carmen, or even the others. Perhaps it was because they met by Player threatening her for information, and then her double crossing him. Outsmarting a fourteen year old, Amelia Diallo’s proudest moment. “I’m flattered you think so highly of me. Anyway, it’s super late in Bangkok, what are you doing up?”

“Like you ever keep normal hours,” Amelia says, dryly.

“Touche.”

“So, what are you up to? What do you actually… _do,_ in your spare time? Like, does working with Carmen put a strain on you? It can take a lot of your time.”

“I like what I’m doing with Carmen, so I don’t mind if it takes a toll on me. It’s better than what I’m doing now, I’ve gotta do a comparison between The Tempest and Hag-Seed, which is a rewrite of The Tempest but set in a prison. Why? I don’t know, it’s what I’m supposed to be answering. Any distraction is a welcome one.”

“Wait, you actually do schoolwork?” Amelia doesn’t know why this surprises her, “I thought being homeschooled was just a… I don’t know, convenience.” 

“Well, yeah, my parents are overprotective, but I’m still required by law to have _some_ schooling. I’m already a year behind where I should be.”

“Overprotective, yet they let you spend however long you like talking to strangers on the internet?”

“As long as I don’t leave the house, they have no clue what I’m doing up here,” Player said, “As long as my work gets done. Anyway, I just explained to them that the paedophiles disguised as twelve year olds with blonde hair and blue eyes are an important source of my social enrichment.”

Amelia snorts, “I bet that went down _real_ well with them.”

“I told them it was either that or I go back to school. That shut them up quickly.”

“I’m guessing something happened? To make them like that? Unless they just popped out like that...”

“Anyway,” Player said, “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about essay writing, would you?”

Amelia realised, quite suddenly, that there wasn’t a single person currently residing in this apartment that _would._ Unless Shadowsan had a secret identity in academia (honestly, it wouldn’t surprise her. Nothing she couldpossibly learn about Shadowsan would surprise her). 

“Yeah, wrong sibling,” she said, “you’d want James for that. He’s the genius of the family. I’m the one with the 49 ATAR.”

“And that’s bad, I’m guessing?”

“It’s… pretty not great, yeah,” Amelia said, gesturing vaguely even though Player wouldn’t see it. “I was pretty heartbroken about it.” 

“Were your parents disappointed?” Player asked.

“All my parents have ever wanted for me was to be happy,” Amelia knew, even as she said it, that she was one of the few who could say it, genuinely believe it, and _have_ genuinely believed it, all their lives, “They were more upset by the fact that _I_ was upset.”

“I’m happy that you’re close to them,” Player said, “and that you’re keeping in contact with them.”

There’s just enough emphasis on the last sentence to tell Amelia that he had was suspicious about what was going on. 

“Doesn’t it bother you? Having to mitigate them so they don’t get traced? I mean, I always thought it was kinda inconvenient for you.”

“Amelia, it’s your family. I’m happy to do whatever I can to keep you in contact with them.”

“Yeah, I’m really glad Carmen gave me permission, I didn’t think she was going to,” Amelia had been terrified to ask her, because that meant actually _talking_ to Carmen, and it was five months of living with Carmen before Amelia mustered up the courage to have a casual conversation with Carmen by herself. But it was her family, so she swallowed her fear and asked. 

“Are you kidding? Carmen made it clear to me that I was to do anything I could so you guys could keep contact.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Player said, “Carmen doesn’t have much to go on in terms of family, biologically speaking. She’s not gonna cut you off from yours.”

“But you guys are her family.”

“That’s true. But you count too, you’re important to her.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if I count as _family,”_ Amelia knew she was walking the border of dangerous territory, “I mean, it’s been kinda fraught… considering… everything’s that’s happened…”

There was silence on the phone. 

“Um… about your family,” Player started, and stopped, uncomfortably, “You haven’t… you haven’t told them… told them about…”

Players not even in the same _country,_ and he won’t say Gray’s name. 

“I haven’t.” Amelia rescues him from the upset of it. “I haven’t spoken to them since Paris.”

“Not even James?” Player asked, surprised. 

“I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, but you tell him _eve-”_

“So, what else do you do when you’re not talking to us or the paedophiles?”

“Oh,” Player says, sounding unsure and a little suspicious, “I mean, I like hacking stuff…”

“Wow, the hacker likes to hack things, who would’ve guessed?”

“Shut up.”

Her and Player talked about whatever until light started to creep in, calling no-sleep nausea up from her stomach to herald the morning. She yawned, but she didn’t want to leave. It was almost, for a second, like nothing had happened in the past week. Almost like she wasn’t alone. 

“You should sleep,” Player said, “Where you are, it’s so late it’s early.”

“You sound like-” Amelia stops herself from saying his name, for Player’s sake. Because in her Exile, _he_ was the one who made sure she slept (Amelia couldn’t tell him how much she hated it when he did that, without explaining the reason) Even though she doesn’t know why Player can’t handle it. But he’s still a child, Amelia has to remember that. 

“Amelia,” Player asked, “are sure you’re al-”

“What are you doing up so early?”

Carmen’s voice is quiet but it still nearly gives her a heart attack. It’s just like when she first met her, well, first meeting after having her drugged, everything Carmen did either intimidated or amazed her. The only difference now is that Amelia doesn’t idolise her, anymore. Or maybe she does, but her feelings towards Carmen are _way_ too complicated to discern right now. It’s why she prefers to keep away. Wasn’t Carmen supposed to hold it together? How could Amelia be handling this better than she was? What was this charade she was failing so miserably at? Wasn’t this just the consequences of Carmen’s own-

No. She needs to be an adult about this. 

“Talking to Player,” She told her. And then, even know she doesn’t really want to know the answer. “What are you doing?”

“I couldn’t- nevermind. You should go to bed, it’s early.”

Amelia stands up, grateful for the excuse to leave.

“I’m gonna go to bed, Player.”

“Goodnight,” Player said. 

“It’s really a nice space,” Carmen says, suddenly. Amelia pauses, and turns around, unsure if she means the library, or the entire apartment, or if she even wants to find out. “We could get some books in here, or use it for training space. We’ll see what we can do with it.”

Her hair’s in a bun, but even then it’s lost its bounce. She’s fidgeting in a way Amelia’s never seen her do before. 

“Once we settle in, we could explore the city some more,” Carmen told her, “Maybe, maybe we don’t have to leave, we could rebuild here.”

Carmen didn’t look back at Amelia as she left. If Amelia was honest, she didn’t actually believe Carmen was talking to her. 

***

Amelia called Player again, the next night. And the night after that, because he was the only person she could talk to without the great looming horror that Gray had become (to the others, _she_ was fine), getting in the way. She could tell he was concerned for her, but he never thought she was grieving over something she wasn’t. Unlike _others,_ Player wasn’t projecting.

She talked to him a lot throughout the week. It helped wile away the night hours, when her sleep was fretful. By the time she was worn out dawn was breaking, but Amelia Diallo had always been a nocturnal creature, this was nothing new. The only issue was that she was waking up later in the day, but it wasn’t as if they exactly had anything to _do._ None of them, apparently, could bring themselves to leave the apartment. 

Amelia woke up - terrified, alone, _again,_ \- at 12:35 pm on Saturday. She could practically feel Mama’s disapproval all the way from Sydney. Reagardless, Amelia put herself back together, made herself look presentable and _not_ like she’d woken up past midday, but had just… stayed in her room, awake, for at least four hours, because _that_ was far better. 

But it didn’t matter, because when she walked outside, it was to an almost empty apartment. Empty, except for Shadowsan, who was reading at the kitchen table. Damn, retract her last statement, apparently they _were_ leaving the apartment. This was a sudden and pleasing improvement. Pleasing, as long as _she_ didn’t have to go out with them.

“Carmen and the others went out for groceries. Considering the hours you keep,” Shadowsan said, “We thought it best not to wake you.”

There was a hint of judgement in his tone. Amelia prepared herself for a talking-to. 

“Thanks.”

“I understand that everyone grieves in their own way, but the moment you start putting your physical health at risk,” Shadowsan looked up at her, “it becomes a concern.”

And _here_ it comes. 

“I’m not _grieving,”_ she said, “I’m fine. I’ll start waking up earlier, if that’s what you want.”

Shadowsan gave her one of his Considering Looks, but it was a lot more disbelief and a lot less considering. 

“Amelia, you lost someone quite close to you. You still have the cut on your forehead to attest to that. It’s understandable, expected, even, for you to show some reaction.”

Amelia touched the stitches. They twinged in response, she’d forgotten they were there. Sure, she could feel them whenever she smiled, but they were practically unnoticeable. Anyway, she’d had enough forehead wounds in the past year, this was just a known feeling at this point. 

“Look, I can handle it on my own. Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Shadowsan was never really one for beating around the bush, but he was wrong, anyway, so... _fine,_ Amelia would let him pick and choose her emotions for her. “If you want to continue on like it was before, if you want to process it quietly, if you want to keep it to yourself, that’s fine. But you can’t keep denying that anything has happened at all.”

“I’m not _denying_ anything. Just because I’m not falling to pieces like the rest of-”

Amelia stopped. _That_ was a step too far. Anger might imply something else, like with Ivy. Amelia can’t show it. Shadowsan slowly raised an eyebrow.

“You can’t resent us for the way we’re reacting to this, the same way we cannot resent you.”

“I don’t _resent_ any of you.”

“And yet you judge us?”

“I’m not judging you, it was just… a slip of the tongue, I shouldn’t have…”

“Aren’t slip of the tongues more indicative of the truth?” Shadowsan asked her, staring her down.

“What does it matter? I’m fine. I’m _fine._ I get that you’re trying to help me, but I’m fine. I don’t need it.”

Shadowsan’s face didn’t change. Not that his face was the most expressive, but Shadowsan could be _stubborn._ So could most people in this apartment, actually. 

“You need to talk about this with Carmen. Whatever issue you have, however you’re feeling, it is _not_ your place to blame Carmen for-”

“Oh, so it’s fine when Carmen blames me for what happened in Seoul, but not when I blame her for-”

Amelia covered her mouth. Shadowsan stared at her. 

“So you _do_ blame Carmen.”

“No, no! I don’t!” She insisted, quickly, “The only person I blame is Gray, he was the one who did this, but… but…”

Amelia might as well grab a shovel, and start digging her own grave. There’s more she should be saying, and she’s not saying it. _He_ would never screw this up, he’d keep it together under the pressure, he’d be an _adult._

“You can trust that the things you tell me won’t get back to Carmen,” Shadowsan said, slowly, yet comfortingly, “Unless someone’s in danger, of course.”

“Really Shadowsan, there’s nothing to say, I’m fine.”

“Amelia, you can-”

“I hate this stupid fucking city,” She surprises even herself. She’s also a little bit ashamed, this anger’s so _immature_ of her, “I hate this apartment, I hate my room, I hate the fact that we’re _stuck_ here, I hate why we ended up here in the first place. I hate the fact we were just expected to pack up everything and move at the drop of the hat like my life, for over a _year,_ was in that house!”   
  


“I won’t pretend you don’t understand exactly why we had to leave so quickly,” Shadowsan said.

“And I hate the fact that Carmen-”

Amelia, again, stops herself. But this time it’s because she suddenly remembered that Shadowsan knew the truth, too. Not just knew, Shadowsan was _there._ Shadowsan would’ve… oh God, Shadowsan would have _trained_ him.

“Nothing. Nevermind. It’s fine, _I’m_ fine. I’m fine, I just wish…”

Damnnit, Amelia’s got no clue what’s coming out of her mouth. Gray would be so ashamed of her, she could hear his voice, could hear the words, even if Gray himself never said them. He was a lot crueler in her head, but she supposed that was to be expected. There had to be some sort of connection between the Gray she knew and the Gray that left a cut on her forehead that would definitely scar. Did he actually love her? Amelia still can’t answer the question, because maybe it was all a lie. What if he hated her just as much as he hated the rest of them? 

“You just wish, what? Amelia, if there’s anything we could do that’d make this easier for you...”

But Amelia shook her head, it was nothing, there was nothing. There was nothing worth telling him.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Shadowsan stood up, “But, you should know that Carmen and I have discussed it… and...”

The hairs on the back of Amelia’s neck stand up. What is there to talk about, she’s fine! She’s handling it better than everyone here and she fucking knows it. Why are they _talking_ about her like she can shatter?” 

“Amelia, if this all becomes… too much for you,” Shadowsan continued, “No one here would be adverse to you returning to Australia for a while. Or, even, should you so choose it, permanently.”

Going… back? To Australia? Amelia didn’t say anything, she didn’t have anything to say. As much as she hated this apartment and this tragedy they were in, she’d never truly considered the option of _leaving._

But even as she entertains the thought she throws it out. If Bangkok felt like a funeral, Sydney would feel like a seance. The living would always bring back the souls of the dead, they were already trying, Amelia has the missed calls and unread texts to prove it. An entire life of being haunted, the thought was unbearable.

“I… no. No, I don’t think I can leave,” She said.

Shadowsan nodded, patted her on the shoulder comfortingly.

“I understand,” he told her, “You can change your mind at any time, though.” 

He stood up, and smiled at her.

“Carmen should be back in about half an hour,” he said, “So if you would like to eat uninterrupted, I’d suggest doing it now.”

Amelia smiled at him. Her forehead stung a little. 

“Thanks.”

And she ended up staring into her bowl of cereal for a solid ten minutes, lost in thought. It was definitely inappropriate for the time of day, and they _definitely_ had far more appropriate, far lunchier foods available, but Amelia wanted sugar and she wanted it stat. Gray never passed up an opportunity to indulge her sweet tooth, but her sweet tooth was nothing compared to his (barely concealed) one. He just used her buying food as an excuse for him to get some as well. 

But every Friday there would be a chocolate croissant waiting for her when she came downstairs, (except when they made pancakes, and Amelia introduced Gray to the wonders of the lemon/sugar combo), and Amelia never understood why. She didn’t even like them that much, before Gray started getting them for her.

Amelia could dismiss most of what Shadowsan said, it wasn’t relevant to her, but there was one thought she just couldn’t let go of. This was everything she’d wanted, everything she dreamed about. Gray had walked into Carmen’s workroom that night and torn their lives apart, and then taken that one thing so intrinsic to her away with him, left it in tatters the same way he left both her and Carmen on the workroom floor. 

And it feels like she’s seeing it for the first time. The truth. She’s fine, of course, Amelia’s fine. But so much of her had been taken with him, and the thought… the thought of that…

It makes her want to sink her nails deep into herself, into what she has left and never let go of it. And if she wasn’t so perfectly put together, she’d do it just to spite him. She’s not, though, she’s not a child, she’s nearly twenty years old. Amelia won’t leave because she can’t bear going home. She thought _this_ was her home, with Carmen, with Gray and Zack and Ivy, and that’s been ripped away from her. Going back to Sydney would just be salt in the wound. 

But staying was killing her. Staying here was going to drive her over the edge, the edge of the terrace, most probably. Sydney may tease her forever with how hopefully stupid she’d once been, but at least it would get her out of here. Out of this wake, out of this tragedy. Out of this mirror world where everyone she knew had been replaced with dolls almost perfectly in their image (when were the button-eyes going to come out?), but without any of their souls. 

Sometimes, Amelia felt like she was the only person truly alive. But even then… there are moments. Moments where she pauses. Wonders. What’s happened to her? Amelia Diallo looks in the mirror and doesn’t know if she’s even seeing herself. Every single emotion she can’t describe is compressed into a split second but it’s long enough. The question threatens to constrict her.

Did Shadowsan… was he _right_ about her?

_No._

_No!_

No. Amelia swats the thought away like it’s a fruit fly on a summer’s day. She’s fine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've ever used as word in a chapter as much as I've used the word 'fine' in this one.


	11. Gray, Keeping it Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gray's managing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I feel like this chapter is way weaker than the past two but I did my best so I'm okay with that.

_ The feather pushes into his skin, he feels the pressure before he can feel the pain, but the pain comes, and it grows every millisecond. Gray doesn’t scream, he just stares. Stares at nothing. And then the pain reaches its pinnacle, and the tension bursts, his skin bounces back around the wound. Despite the agony he’s in, Gray can feel the cool, tough base of the feather as it pushes the muscle just beneath his top right rib around it, as it separates fibres on its journey. _

_ How long has he been here? There’s feathers in the gaps of only four of his ribs, and in some there are two, others four, one six. Does this make much sense to him? No. Not really.  _

_ All he can do is arch, struggle, as the feather’s pushed in deeper. That’s the extent of movement he’s allowed. There’s blood covering every part of him, he can hear it dripping on the floor. Still, he feels nothing but pain, no fear, no anger, just pain and blind acceptance. And way too much blood. Seriously, why the hell was there so much blood? This was a little excessive. _

_ But then Toby’s staring at him. Staring at him with that quiet anger in his eyes that was only reserved for when Gray had completely, truly crossed a line. But even then he’s never seen him like this before. Never seen so much hatred in him. Hatred… directed at Gray.  _

_ And then it all pours in. Everything Gray hadn’t felt, fear and loss and holy fuck, holy fuck it  _ hurts _ and Toby’s face is unchanging, Toby stares down at him, and reaches behind the back of his- no. No, please, not there, stop! Anywhere but there, please, he can do better next time, just, please, not there, not there,  _ not there!

Gray woke up with a start. He couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t, it’d be nice to start with an end, for once. He reached for two things on instinct; Sparks, and his phone, and he checked the date without really reading it. It’s just assurance, a stupid little force of habit that makes no sense and he can’t control (how ashamed he’d been when Amelia had found out. Almost as ashamed as he’d been when she’d told Carmen. Well, told Ivy to tell Carmen, it was during the time when  _ Carmen _ decided to put the blame of his kidnap and torture on his best friend, a girl who was barely fucking twenty).

His ribs were killing him, but they’d settled down a lot over the weeks. He had to, begrudgingly, admit that Lorikeet…  _ maybe… _ knew what she was doing. It probably wasn’t the best substitute for proper medical attention, and they were running a definitive risk, but Gray didn’t want any chance of being able to be located when he was in the state that he was. 

There’s a loud  _ thump  _ right next to his head, he jumps, even though he knows it’s just Lorikeet making sure he hasn’t been murdered. Gray despises how easy he is to startle, these days. He hits the wall back, with perhaps a little more irritation than strictly necessary, and gets up to give whatever it is she’s thrown back to her. Not because he cares about the integrity of anything Lorikeet owns, but because it starts to pile up if he doesn’t, and she yells at him if he... accidentally kicks something. If Gray had learnt anything in the past three weeks, it was that he was going to have to be Lorikeet’s volume control, if he wanted to keep his eardrums intact. 

This time, Lorikeet’s thrown a book. Gray doesn’t care to look at it, he picks it up, opens the door to her bedroom, ignores the furious screeching, and throws the book back inside. 

Ah, if only that signified an end to his and Lorikeet’s interactions for the day. Unfortunately, she lived here. 

Gray was out to kill three people, nothing more, nothing less. But he couldn’t do anything with his ribs the way they were, so he was stuck here until they healed. Here, with Lorikeet. Who was seriously pushing him to extend that list. 

She bothered him, every minute she was in his presence bothered him, just her being in the same room as him made it impossible to focus (yes,  _ Lorikeet _ was the reason he was lacking concentration, it wasn’t symptomatic of any other nightmare causing mental condition). A day didn’t go by when there wasn’t an argument between the two of them. 

Three weeks went by and Lorikeet hadn’t been called away on a mission. Which, in itself wasn’t abnormal, Gray had gone longer without a mission, but when it was  _ Lorikeet,  _ he found himself counting the days. But,  _ apparently,  _ Lorikeet ‘worked best in very particular circumstances.’ 

“So, you’re a shit agent,” he’d deadpanned. Lorikeet had turned pink, and flipped him off. 

Gray hated how emotive she was, how everything showed on her face and she didn’t seem to care about it. If it was anyone else, he might’ve felt a little bad, saying some of the things he said to her. But it was Lorikeet, and she’d taken a  _ particularly _ cruel jab at his amnesia, straight after that. So he didn’t feel a thing.

If he’d particularly pissed her off, Lorikeet would take to hiding his painkillers. Or, even worse, kidnapping Sparks. He didn’t know how she did it, but she did, and he’d responded by turning one every light in the house and slamming every door until their neighbours complained Lorikeet, hating both with a passion Gray didn’t quite get, had quickly relinquished Sparks to his rightful home, but Gray had a feeling it wasn’t over. Though he wasn’t too worried, he didn’t think Lorikeet was capable of thinking ahead.

It wasn’t like Gray wanted Lorikeet to be his friend. He couldn’t survive another friend. Gray dragged himself to the kitchen, and tried to put the thought out of his mind. Toby had despised him, in his dream, and it wasn’t the first time he’d dreamed about Toby looking at 

him like that. Had Toby looked at him like that, in Korea? The image of what Toby had looked like back there was blurred by remembrance and Gray’s tears. But he must’ve done, he must’ve hated him, pitied and loathed him. That could be the only reason Toby had done what he’d done. Had handed him over to Bellum.

Though, Gray supposed he should’ve been grateful. Because had Matt and Toby never sold him out, Bellum never would’ve had the chance to bring his memories back, and Gray would’ve spent the rest of his life caught up in Carmen’s siren song of a lie. Would that have been better, though? He sometimes wonders if It would be. Maybe Gray could’ve never had to know how much his friends had truly hated him. How much Carmen had betrayed him. Maybe he would’ve spent the rest of his life an innocent fool (at least, as innocent as he could’ve been), maybe he would’ve been nothing more than an idiot, continually denying reality, but he would’ve been back home, with friends who loved him, and friends with whom he was still under the illusion did. 

But, to be fair, this really what Gray deserved. This was what he got for letting them see him for what he was. He’d learnt, again and again he’d  _ learnt, _ and if the universe thought he’d forgotten it was swift in reminding him. Gray wasn’t about to make the same mistake again. And if people had to die for that, so be it. It was the only way he could redeem himself. The only thing he could do to keep himself safe. 

Gray was just glad he had been smart enough not to let his classmates in. He didn’t know what he’d do if he had to hurt them, as well, he still hadn’t recovered from Amelia. From the look on her face. Gray supposed he should be glad. There was no way she couldn’t despise him after what he did to her. 

Amelia. She hurt to think about. To be fair, most people in that house hurt to think about. How much they all hate him, now. And it was fair, it was to be expected, they had seen him, truly and completely and it was all by his own hand. Gray had walked into Carmen’s workroom and taken control of his own fate. Voluntary euthanasia, before the inevitable befell him. 

Still, he ached. 

But it was all so he’d never get hurt again. It was a sacrifice, however painful it was, that Gray had to make. 

He tears off some of the flatbread that Lorikeet liked so much, from the Arabic market down the street (he assumes there’s a proper name for the bread that he doesn’t know, but he’s yet to visit the market himself, and Lorikeet never decided to tell him). Technically, it was for Lorikeet, not Gray, but considering that  _ somebody _ had been eating  _ his _ palmiers, he didn’t particularly care. 

Gray absentmindedly stared at his new suit, back on the mannequin with far more pins than before, for Lorikeet to take in (it’d been a size or two too big, Gray decided he didn’t want to think about the implications of that, but it  _ had _ been four years). He wished she’d hurry up, but his suit wasn’t the only thing Lorikeet had to work on. In fact, he was surprised by the sheer amount Lorikeet had to work on. She wasn’t, by far, the only person at VILE with the skillset she had, and yet she was piled on with masses of repair work and alterations, and when she wasn’t working she was designing, consulting. She never seemed to stop. And that was made even more confusing by the fact that Gray had never even heard of Lorikeet before he lost his memories (oh, how he misses the days). Surely someone with this much interaction with the other agents would’ve been better known (and surely someone like Lorikeet, who dressed like a texta pack and was physically incapable of shutting up, would’ve at least drawn some attention). 

He’d considered asking, but then he’d seen Tigress’ visor on the work desk, poorly concealed by scrap fabric, and had to leave the room. 

There was no point where Gray could definitively say that Sheena got nicer, because it never happened. Rather, they’d just had to accept that she was just mean, and they were going to have to live with that. Sheena seemed, at least to Gray, as someone who’d never learnt a love language, never had the need, and was now trying to do the best with the dictionary she had. And she tried. It wasn’t always obvious, but she tried. 

“It’s a dog-eat-dog world, Gray,” She’d once told him, “No use trying to play fake-nice.”

Still, he wished she was a bit nicer to Black Sheep.

Gray knew better than to pry, first, it was against the rules (not that they ever really abided by those rules, Antonio would tell his entire life story on command), and second, (and more importantly) it was a dick move. But whatever her issue was clashed with Black Sheep’s own strange brand of naivete, and Gray and the others were just forced to stand back and try to mitigate the carnage. 

And yet, Tigress and Black Sheep’s fighting lost its edge around three months in (Gray doesn’t know the exact details as to why, but he knows Black Sheep rescued her from  _ some _ nasty run-in). It never went away, but it just softened. Insults carried less and less meaning, and on few occasions, he actually caught them being  _ nice _ to each other. Their bickering just became another vein on which their team ran.

Black Sheep’s abandonment didn’t hit Sheena as hard as it did the others. She just started hating her, and left it at that. 

Gray missed her terribly. He missed Antonio and Jean-Paul terribly. But at the same time, he couldn’t stop the resentment he felt towards them. They had to have known what they were dragging him into. They had to, regardless of what they wanted for him, and he couldn’t help but resent them for it. But, unlike with Matt and Toby, he’d never let them close enough for them to hate him. His teammates couldn’t hurt him with anything worse than the best intentions. Perhaps that’s what saved their lives. 

Gray took a shower. Scalding, even by his standards, but Gray hadn’t stopped feeling dull coldness since he got here. Marseille was quite warm for France’s Autumn standards, but there was a frigid, biting wind, Lorikeet said it came down from the mountains. But even barricaded in his room in the midday heat, Gray still wasn’t warm enough. He ended up stealing one of the weighted blankets Lorikeet kept in the cupboard, but even that barely fixed it. 

His chest still ached. It had barely been three weeks, since he got here, and Gray was tired, sore, and about to commit his first act of first degree murder on his roommate. At least, his first act since he got his memories back. He doesn’t talk about the other first time.

Gray ran his hand through his wet hair, pushing it off his forehead. It still felt strange to him, having short hair again, sure, it was easier to take care of and dried faster, but the length still felt unsettling to him. Like it didn’t belong. And it had taken so long to grow, too. Gray finished drying it, and he supposed cutting it short was a good idea. Towel-drying put too much pressure on the back of his head. 

He heard the very loud sounds of what could only be Lorikeet getting up, and decided it was time to get back to his room, before she could run into him. But then,

“Oi.”

She stopped in the hallway. Gray kept walking. 

“Oi, hey, wait, fucking stop a minute, would you?”   
  


Lorikeet moved in front of him to stop him. She had her glasses on, and also her pyjamas. She looked bizarre, but she always looked bizarre. Her hair was a mess. 

Gray sighed, and rolled his eyes, “What.”

“We’re sparring today,” Lorikeet said, “If your measurements are anything to go by, you’re not as fit as you once were.”

“Hey, I was training with Bl- with Carmen.”

“And yet you look emaciated,” Lorikeet snapped, “And we need to do something about your ‘kill switch.”

“Oh, would you shut up about my “kill switch?” It’s all you ever talk about,  _ gods, _ it’s annoying. Also, consider I’m still on  _ multiple _ broken ribs?”

“Well, maybe if you had your shit a bit more together, you wouldn’t have either a kill switch, or broken ribs! Anyway, they’re healed enough for this. What’s the worst that can happen, you puncture a lung? You have another.” 

Gray didn’t even know what to  _ say _ to that last part. 

“Don’t come at me for not having my shit together, Lorikeet,” he eventually decided to say, “You can’t even have the kitchen lights on.”

“Fuck me, I’m going to look forward to beating the shit out of you,” Lorikeet grumbled. Gray would’ve been offended, but the feeling was very mutual.

“Also, did you just decide we were going to do this today?” He asked, “Bit of warning would be fucking nice.”

“Sorry, warning is for people who aren’t complete dicks,” Lorikeet said, pushing past him. “Training room, two hours from now. I’ll drag you out if you don’t show up. 

She disappeared into the main room, and Gray was, quite suddenly, very glad for the sparring opportunity. Because he was struck by the very strong urge to punch her. 

***

“Let me guess,” Lorikeet asked, before Gray, against the floor, heart pounding in his ears, could even open his mouth. He was shivering, despite his blood rushing through him, he was still sickeningly cold. “Date?”

“Um, no thanks,” He said, panting, voice quivering, “No offence, I’m sure you’re a… horrible woman, but I’m not looking to date right now.”

And even if it wasn’t Lorikeet, his particular brand of emotional repression was exactly conducive to a romantic relationship on a regular basis, let alone on a vengeance murder quest.

“Get fucked.” Lorikeet sat down beside him with a huff. “But it’s the 28th of March, before you ask.”

“Yeah, I figured that out about three reminders of that ago.”

Lorikeet’s ‘training room’ was… actually just clearing shit out of the main room and putting a mat down. It was a small apartment. They had to make do.

“Well, if you can make the  _ dullest _ fucking pun’s known to man, I’m guessing that’s some improvement,” Lorikeet said. She was wearing a short-sleeved AFL guernsey over black leggings, and her hair was tied up in a bun. Three thick black pins on each side held her glasses on, and she wiped her fringe out of her face with a dramatic exhale. Her nails were a navy blue, claw like, and meticulously cared for, there were even tiny gold patterns on them. “Aside from as having as much creativity as a millennial aimed marketing campaign, you feel any better?” 

Gray tried to fight the tears, but it wasn’t working very well. One trickled down, and he wiped it away. 

“I feel fine,” he said, “Perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, I don’t reckon this is the best idea,” Lorikeet said, looking down at her feet.

“It was  _ your _ idea.”

“Yeah, only because we don’t have any other option,” Lorikeet said, gesturing wildly, “If it were up to me, mate, you’d be on the fast track to fucking therapy town.”

Gray had to suppress an eye-roll. He didn’t  _ need _ therapy. He could set this problem away, he could deal with it himself. If it wasn’t for this ridiculous physical manifestation, he would’ve been fine. 

“And we can’t do that,” he said, eventually.

“No. We can’t,” Lorikeet sighed, “Anyway, you seem like the type of bastard who’d lie to their therapist, so, moot point.”

“And you seem like the type of person who’d put people into therapy.”

Lorikeet punched him in the arm, hard.

“Okay, one more round,” she said, savagely, rising to her feet, “I wish I could use my knives, you get to use  _ your  _ weapon.”

“Yeah, as a blunt-force object,” Gray said, standing up shakily, as well, Sparks in hand. He didn’t really feel up to doing this, in fact, he felt on the verge of a complete collapse, “Count your blessings it’s not more.”

Lorikeet charged at him. 

The opportunity for Gray and Lorikeet to perform relatively unchecked violence onto each other should’ve led to some form of catharsis, yet the more they sparred, the angrier he got with her. As much as it was a relief to be able to fight again - he and Sparks worked like they were the same circuit, Shadowsan had, at least, taught him well - the frustration kept building, and he knew, at some point, it was going to overload. 

Lorikeet was better at long range than hand to hand, but that didn’t mean he could write her off. She was both unpredictable and well practiced, and was far better at taking a hit than he gave her credit for. It was evident she was experienced, and she could predict his next move with surprising accuracy for the impulsive, bird-brained idiot he’d taken her for. It just made him angrier. 

She was smart enough to go for his ribs, and he was smart enough to know that she was pulling her punches. But that said nothing for her shoes, which felt like they were made of metal, sometimes. And she was quick on her feet, too evasive for him, sometimes. Still, however used to being attacked Lorikeet seemed to be, Gray’s anger just kept rising. Eventually he snapped, charging forward, as Lorikeet jumped back, dodging Sparks but Gray swung again and again and again and she didn’t have a chance to counter. Gray didn’t care about where he was moving, just that he was hitting at her, and then metal struck flesh and Gray realised he’d backed Lorikeet up to the wall.

“Ow, what the fuck?” She yelped, doubled over. “I was cornered, I surrendered, you didn’t have to  _ hit me.” _

Gray hadn’t realised he had. 

“No,” he said, not wanting to admit that, “I didn’t. Wanted to, though.”

“God, you’re an asshole,” she said, staggering over to the kitchen. “I’m getting a drink,”

“Could you get me-”

“No.” 

***

Gray and Lorikeet didn’t share food. They just stole it. There was no sort of communalism in their eating, which Gray was fine with. He didn’t want any sort of closeness to Lorikeet, didn’t want to have that sort of closeness that he had with anyone else. With Lorikeet, he had a head-start, she already hated him. 

But he still missed that familiarity he felt, back in San Diego, before he went and irrevocably destroyed it all (Gray knew what he was doing, didn’t make the nausea he felt at the thought of it any better). As much as Gray knew he shouldn’t, he hoarded every little piece of information from that house, because even when he knew he had no other option but to leave, all he wanted to do was stay (even when staying meant staying with Carmen, and he couldn’t look at her without fighting off tears, tears of rage or guilt or just pure betrayal). Memory, after all the pain it had caused him, was now the only thing that could get him through the day.

It was immediately clear that Ivy and Zack were fighting when she ordered sushi. Amelia would, on very, very special occasions, make one of her grandma’s recipes (she even taught Gray how to make fufu, once, but Gray always preferred baking to cooking). Carmen, who didn’t know a thing about cooking, asked him quietly if he could make lamingtons (he didn’t think too much about that at the time, but he made them at VILE. She’d adored them. He never knew why, he wasn’t exactly renowned for his baking skills). There was even the one time he and Amelia convinced Shadowsan that vegemite was best eaten by the spoonful. He didn’t speak to them for a fortnight. 

And any time Zack was upset about something, he’d ask Gray if they could go and get food. Gray was never worried about Zack, but there were moments where he was concerned for him. If he knew anything, it was when a facade was being maintained. The same way he knew that something was wrong with Amelia, that there was something she wasn’t telling him (and he wished he’d never found out. He held her tight enough to suffocate him, because it was the only way he could escape the guilt). But Zack was way worse at hiding his feelings, and Gray knew, when Zack came back from a mission with a forced smile that kept fading, that a midnight car ride was imminent. 

So he just sat in the passenger side as Zack drove, glancing over to him, like he once glanced over to a sixteen year old Toby, only that time, he’d been preoccupied with not crashing the car (Now, he tries to avoid thinking about the parallels.). 

“Did something happen?” he prompted, gently, “On the mission?”

Zack shook his head, “No, it went fine.”

He was quiet, after that. Gray didn’t press further, Zack would tell him when he was ready, he always did. 

“I know Ivy loves me,” Zack said, after several minutes, “I know that Carmen loves me, I do. But sometimes… I just wonder if it’d be better for them if I wasn’t around.”

Gray looked at him, quickly, “Why?”

Zack glanced at him, and his eyes went wide. “Whoa, no, not like that! It’s more like… when you’re around people who are just, really great, it’s… sometimes hard not to wonder if they’d be better  _ not _ having to deal with you. Like, I love Ivy, I do, but she’s had to give up a lot for me, I just, feel like I’m just a burden to her.”

Gray wasn’t quite sure what to say. He would’ve liked to offer some physical contact, but Zack was driving. He opened his mouth, and closed it, again. 

“You know, that’s not how love really… works,” he got out, eventually, “I mean, I get why you think she’d resent you, and maybe she does wish… things had turned out differently, but she loves you, and however she feels about what happened isn’t going to change that fact. Also, it wasn’t your fault? It absolutely wasn’t.”

“I know that, I know she loves me, I just…  _ fuck,”  _ Zack said, “I wish our parents didn’t suck ass. Who just ups and  _ leaves _ a fifteen year old girl with a ten year old to raise? Who?”

“I… don’t know,” Zack and Ivy’s parents, apparently, but Gray couldn’t say that. “But I do know that if  _ I _ had a sibling, she could’ve risen hell itself and I wouldn’t have thought she was a burden. I think Ivy’s the same. She doesn’t think you’re a burden the same way I don’t think you’re a burden.”

“Seriously?” Zack asked, quietly.

“Yeah, no matter what you do. And I also know that you’re not responsible for the shitty things your parents did.”

Zack was quiet after that. Gray turned, only to see Zack looking back at him, opening and closing his mouth like he didn’t know what to say.

“Uh… mate, you might wanna try, uh, looking at the  _ road.” _

“Road! Right,” Zack swerved them back into position. “Just, got caught up in the, what’s the word… the irony?”

“Huh?”

“Uh, doesn’t matter. Just, um, I couldn’t… no matter what you do, either. Think you were a burden, or hate you, or uh, any of it,” Zack said, eventually. His voice was a little shaky, “Thanks, Gray.”

That conversation aged like milk.

Gray genuinely,  _ genuinely _ hoped Zack hated him now. It was the only solace Gray had when he thought about what he’d done to him. He was just glad Ivy was there, that Zack had her and the others, that they all had each other, that they didn’t have to feel like he did. Gray had tried to tell Ivy, in his letter to her, to take care of herself, because all she ever did was protect, but he doubted Ivy even bothered to read it. She’d probably thrown it away unopened, would’ve just gone straight to hating him the same way Tigress had just gone to hating Black Sheep. Or she would just smother it in concern for others. The same way Tigress had. 

Leaving a letter for Zack and Amelia was unfairly cruel. They’d clutch to it, to his last words, it was the same way Gray used to reread texts Matt and Toby sent him, memorised the conversations the same way an actor memorised lines (Gray just wished he’d known the extent of which the three of them had played at friendship). 

Gray wondered if they’d be glad, as he sat, having destroyed everything that made him who he was except for his own facade, and having destroyed everyone around him in the process. Wondered if it would have brought them the catharsis they’d so clearly been looking for, when they caused him the worst pain he’d ever been through since meeting Toby in Seoul, to know how much pain he’d caused himself and others in their name. 

And now he was sitting here, across from a woman he knew would take great pleasure in pushing him out of the top floor window of their Marseille apartment, and was only placated by the fantasy of doing the same to her. A woman who, from the kitchen table, would not… stop… tapping… her nails…

Lorikeet did it a lot. He guessed she liked the rhythm, but every tap of nail against the table was like hammering a nail against his skull. And after all his frustration from the day, the frustration his ribs were still aching from, he was reaching his limit. His nails were digging into his palm. He was trying to count his breaths. But it all just kept getting louder and louder. 

But then Lorikeet got up, and started pacing. 

And the circuit overloaded.

“Would you shut up!” he snapped. Lorikeet whirled around with a snarl. 

“What, I can’t stim in my own  _ fucking _ household? I am so  _ sick _ of all your incessant  _ whining!” _

Gray didn’t know what stimming was, but he didn’t really care. 

“You were the one who asked me here! I didn’t want to have to deal with you, but you just  _ exist  _ to be a fucking nuisance, I swear!”

“Then leave! Go back to VILE Island with your teammates, you know, the ones who went to heaven and fucking hell for you,” Lorikeet bit it out, thin lips curled into an ugly and petulant shape, “At least then  _ somebody _ would be happy to see you alive.”

“What would you know about teammates?” Gray demanded, “I notice you’re not exactly close with yours, I wonder why? Is it because you give people second-hand embarrassment just by existing?”

“Well at least  _ I _ never made my teammates grieve for me!”

“Because I highly doubt they fucking would!”

Lorikeet let out a yell, and pain was tearing through Gray’s head and he was staring at the ceiling. She’d tipped the couch over in her rage, the impact of it was so strong Gray’s vision was spinning and he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move, either, Lorikeet’s face was inches from his own. It was almost possible to see her eyes, if it wasn’t for the drop-like shapes covering them from the other side. But with those same glasses, with the pain, with the immobility, suddenly Lorikeet didn’t look like Lorikeet anymore. Suddenly, he didn’t know if this was real.

“What would  _ you _ know about it?” she said, spit landing on Gray’s face, “What the fuck would you know about  _ anything, _ hm? You couldn’t even get Black Sheep to look fucking twice at you, let alone make her come back, she left you on that train knowing full fucking well what was gonna happen and she still did it,” Lorikeet’s voice was trembling with rage, “You know, we were  _ all _ counting on you,  _ Graham, _ and you failed. You fucking failed, we thought you two were friends, closer than anything, and you  _ failed. _ We all wondered - what the hell happened? How badly did you fuck up to make  _ Black Sheep _ walk out on us?”

Gray flinched, hearing his own name from Lorikeet’s mouth. Her face was getting blurrier, he didn’t realise he had been tearing up. He was shaking, too, but Lorikeet had him held fast. 

“But now I get it, you know?” Lorikeet hissed, “You didn’t have to do a thing, it’s just who you fucking are. You drive people away, you make them hate you on instinct. The real question, the  _ real _ question is, how in fuck’s name Black Sheep and  _ your _ teammates managed to fucking put up with you for a year, I would never have…” her voice shook, “would never have been able… to get away...”

He knew this. Damnnit, Gray had known this for most of his life, why was hearing it from her was enough to turn him into this? Why was he gasping, why was he, why was he… why? He knew this, he knew this, he  _ fucking _ knew this! But Bellum- no, no no no, this was Lorikeet,  _ Lorikeet, _ Lorikeet saying it, maybe it made it true. Maybe it…

No, no, no. Make it stop, make her stop, Gray couldn’t do this again, Gray couldn’t- he couldn’t! Make it stop, _please_ make it stop.

“You know, I actually felt a little bad for you,” but Lorikeet’s voice was getting louder and louder in his ears, even though she hadn’t changed volume, “I know what it’s like to be treated like that by people you thought were your friends, but now,  _ now, _ I’m starting to think they had the right idea. I’m starting to think you got you what you fucking deserved, mate.”

Gray burst into tears. He didn’t mean to, and the humiliation of it was unbearable. Oh, God, he’d given her just what she wanted. She was going to relish in this, in his shame and he deserved it. He fucking deserved it. But Lorikeet’s mouth fell open and her grip loosened. She said nothing. Just stared. 

And she just stared as Gray shoved her away. As he ran out of the room. As he tripped on the edge of the couch in his panic. And as Gray slammed his door shut behind him, he realised that was worse.

He slid down against his door, still sobbing erratically, wishing desperately to just curl up and die, never be seen again, never be seen when he could be so disgusting, so  _ pathetic. _ Why couldn’t he be better than this, why couldn’t he be stronger, why had he  _ failed?  _ Why couldn’t he be like he was before, everything in its natural place inside his brain, everything settled, everything under control, he didn’t even cry for his  _ sister,  _ for fuck’s sake. Why couldn’t he do that anymore, why couldn’t he  _ be _ that? Why couldn’t he hold himself together, he  _ needed  _ to be able to hold himself together, this had all happened because he couldn’t, why had he lost the ability? What had happened to him?

Gray didn’t know why he was asking questions he already knew the answers to. He’d figured this out already, Matt and Toby had cut him open like an autopsy, and scraped him clean of everything he was. Only, they knew what they were doing, they were meticulous, because after they’d stitched him up they cut out the one way he could cope with everything they’d done to him. And it was all his fault. 

Gray grabbed what was left of his hair and pulled. Pulled and pulled and pulled. He was starting to hyperventilate. 

***

Gray woke up to an incessant pain behind his eyes and an incessant shame in the pit of his stomach. He’d fallen asleep slumped against the door, at some point he’d reached for George. The knowledge of that just made him feel even worse about himself. How the fuck was he supposed to face Lorikeet after last night’s little tantrum? She was never going to let him live it down. He was never going to survive the humiliation. 

The thought of leaving his room to face her horrified him. But as the hours ticked well into the afternoon, the hunger pains in his torso became too much to ignore. He just hoped beyond hope that Lorikeet had decided to go out that day... 

...And she was sitting on the couch that she must’ve righted by herself. 

Fuck.

(Though, if Gray wasn’t so embarrassed to see her there, he would’ve wondered at her strength. It was a large couch.) 

Lorikeet whipped around when he entered the room, shoulders hunched. She was clenching and unclenching her fists, in her lap. Gray realised that she was in full costume, as she tapped an unconscious pattern with the heel of her shoe against the floor. 

“Hello,” she said, quietly, with little breath. Gray ignored her. In fact, he wished ignoring her was this easy all the time, but today she seemed… even diminished. What on Earth? Gray was actually a little alarmed. Lorikeet was never diminished about  _ anything. _

“Um, uh, about last night…” she began, and Gray very suddenly realised why she was acting this way. 

No. Absolutely not. 

He was not taking pity nor remorse from her. He was not accepting  _ anything _ from her, because any acceptance might leave an opening. Lorikeet was  _ not _ getting close to him, she was not getting anywhere near him.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t care,” Lorikeet said, shortly, “I was actually way over the fucking line there, I’m sorry. I have trouble… regulating my emotions, sometimes. I lost control.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine, okay!” He said, “I just, can we just not talk about it? Please?”

“No. Look, I didn’t... mean it. I think you’re a complete fucking dick, but I didn’t mean it,” Lorikeet paused, took a breath. Gray stilled, without quite knowing why. “You didn’t deserve it.”

Gray didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about  _ any _ of it. Not to anyone, and especially not to her. Suddenly, he remembered something Carmen had said, back in Tokyo.

“What’s the deal with your shoes?” He asked. Lorikeet grinned, opened her mouth, and then closed it, face suddenly overcome with suspicion. 

“Why?” she asked.

“Carmen once told me you had really cool shoes. What’s the deal?” It was evident he was trying to distract her, but Lorikeet fell completely for it.

“Black Sheep thought my shoes were… cool?” Lorikeet stared at him, trying to hold back a smile. She balled her fists up and pulled them to her collarbone, just underneath her chin. 

“Yeah, but I don’t get why. They’re just normal shoes.”   
  


“Well, yes, but here, lemme show you,” Lorikeet pulled one of her shoes off, with a bit too much grandeur, and held it up to him. 

“Look.”

Then, she snapped the heel off, and pushed the toe of the toe of the shoe up. It melded into a flat shoe. Gray blinked. 

“I can flick the heel into the sole, too, move it the other way, so I can convert them without having to take the shoe off,” Lorikeet said, “That way, I can have the cool thing about heels - heels, without having the bad thing about heels - having to move in heels.  _ And _ it also means I can always have knives on me without others knowing. Just in case. I attach them to the heel instead, and can fold them in or take it off.”

Gray realised, at that moment, that the heel looked exactly like one of Lorikeet’s knives. Perhaps that’s why they were shaped so strangely.

“Have you ever had to? Wear the knives as heels?” He couldn’t imagine that’d be comfortable.

“Yeah, but I have to be careful where I walk with them, or they’ll dig into the ground . Also, it fucks up the blade. The heels as they are have a pretty solid kick to them, so I only put the blades in them when I can’t put the blades anywhere else on me. You’d be surprised how many places I’ve been able to sneak knives into like that. They’ve shown up on x-ray before, but if I just show the convertible heel trick most people just think it’s a part of that. Anyway, that’s the basic idea of it.”

“Huh,” Gray said, as Lorikeet finished, and began reattaching the heel to the shoe. “That’s… actually pretty neat, did you make them?”

“Well, yeah, I’m the only one with the brains to- wait,” Lorikeet stopped, “Was that a compliment?”

“No. Choke and die.”

Lorikeet rolled her eyes, and put her shoe back on.

“Oh, right, I figured I should tell you,” she said, “I’m leaving.”

“Forever?” Gray’s heart lifted with hope and joy.

“No, fuckwit. For a mission.”

“Oh,” It sank a little. But only a little. “How long will you be gone?”

“Um, a week? A week and a half, maybe two, if shit hits the fan? You know how it is,” Lorikeet said.

Gray let out a sigh. A week. A complete, seven day, Lorikeet free week. Maybe even a week and a  _ half. _ What had he done to deserve such a kindness from the universe?

“Oi, what are you looking so happy about?” Lorikeet demanded.

“You? Gone? For a week? Lorikeet whatever-the-hell-your-name-is, you’ve just made me the happiest man on earth.”

Lorikeet scowled, “You know what? As reparation for what I said last night, I’m gonna let you have that one.”

She stood up, pulling a VILE regulation travel bag over her shoulder, “Okay, you know the drill, I’m not expecting anyone. Do not answer the door, unless it’s someone from downstairs, in which case, get them to leave a message or fix the problem yourself. If you mess up the place, I’ll kill you. Don’t die. Oh,” She turned around, “If I punctured your lung, yesterday, sorry about that. Just use the other one until I get back. I have the connections to get you to a hospital without raising too much suspicion.”

“That’s not how lungs-”

The door shut behind her.

Gray didn’t even care enough to finish his argument. A week. An entire  _ week. _ He almost jumped for joy. Then remembered the myriad of broken ribs he had, and immediately regretted the decision.

***

Gray woke up on the third Lorikeet Free Day, the middle of the best week he’d had in a long time. For the first time in his life, solitude was better than the alternative. He didn’t need to be around other people anymore. He was safe.

But then he heard the distinct sounds of someone entering the living room, and his heart sunk to the floor. 

It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be. She  _ promised.  _ Promised she wouldn’t be back for another week. And yet, here she was, back in the living room, quieter than usual. Footsteps carrying a different weight than usual. No, that couldn’t be right…

Gray sat up, suddenly. Lorikeet was never diminished for anything. 

He peered his head around his door, heart starting to pound. His chest was aching but he ignored it.

  
And then he immediately reached for Sparks. Because the man currently in his living room  _ definitely _ wasn’t Lorikeet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lorikeet: Psychiatrists have weighed in: Trying to beat the shit out of your trauma is not a valid recovery tactic.  
> Gray: Bullshit. I want a refund.


	12. Gray, Just the Sparky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gray's introduced to someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok very very slight cw for slight suicidal ideation (it's barely there but I just want to cover my bases just in case). Anyway enjoy!

Gray pushed himself against his bedroom wall. Okay, okay, what the  _ fuck? _ Who the fuck was this guy in his house? Had they been discovered, was he with VILE? How the hell did he even get in? Where was Lorikeet, had something happened to her? Gray couldn’t believe he was saying this, but he wished she was here. She’d know what to do in a situation like this. Or more specifically, she’d know how to turn the intruder into the impromptu porcupine. It was all she was good for, really. 

The quiet footsteps were growing louder, and Gray realised that, whoever this was, he was walking with a cane. It had to be VILE, then, there was no way any other idiot with a cane would climb all the way up four flights of stairs in a suit to break in somewhere. Seriously, who was this guy? Gray had never even seen him before in his life.

He was fucked, wasn’t he? 

There were two possibilities with whoever this was. Either he was here for Lorikeet, to which Gray wasn’t about to get in anyone’s way, or he was here for Gray, to which Gray had no choice but to take a stand against evil. But he didn’t know who this person was here for, Lorikeet was the obvious answer, but dread was wiring his bloodstream, making it pound deep and heavy in his ears. 

What if he was here for Gray? What if this man knew everything, and knew exactly where to find him? What if there was no choice? Gray knew, then, that he only had two options, as the footsteps inevitably came closer: Hide, or fight. 

Gray was in no state to fight, he was still recovering. But hiding meant he would be found. And, really, what was the point? 

He pushed himself against the wall, and charged Sparks up, because it felt like the only thing he knew how to do. The footsteps were right outside Gray’s partially opened door, now. And then they stopped.

The moment Gray saw the end of a cane slowly pushing it open, he swung. 

Only to be stopped, completely, mid-movement, with a  _ clack _ that pierced through the room. Gray stared. Sparks had been stopped, mid-air, by the apparently insulated cane. 

“Now,” an almost farcical British accent, said, “I  _ highly _ doubt this is any way to greet your teacher.”

Teacher? 

“Who the fuck are you?”

And it clicked. They would’ve had to replace Shadowsan on the Faculty. Gray just realised that it was over. They’d been caught. 

He’d be dragged back to VILE Island to face down the rest of his teachers, his last opportunity lost to him forever. His breath quickened, what was he going to do? What was he going to do? He couldn’t go back there, not back to  _ them, _ not back to knowing what they did to him and being forced to say nothing. Not to the rest of VILE knowing he had survived. Maybe he could throw himself out of the window before they could drag him out, finish the job. After all, what else could he do? If he lost this last ditch attempt, what else was there? There was no one left who both loved him and was loved by him (Gray was starting to wonder if there ever was.) What else was there he could possibly have?

“Hm, I do suppose some rudeness should be excused, considering my entrance.” The new Faculty member said, “But, let’s put the weapons down and discuss this like gentlemen, shall we?”

“You still haven’t told me who you are,” Gray replied, but his voice was a lot calmer, this time. He falls into the act, it wraps around him like a favourite coat. Carmen nestles into her identity, Gray nestles into his. 

“My name is Roundabout. And, don’t worry, I already know who you are, Crackle.”

Gray stares at him. Roundabout’s glasses glint a little, and he’s giving him a disarming smile that sets him a little on edge. Out of all the people to replace Shadowsan, they got this British guy? Gray highly doubted he got up to much field work, it’d be like getting robbed by the Peppa Pig narrator. 

“Now,” Roundabout said, bringing his cane back to his side, “Let’s talk in a slightly more neutral location. I’m fascinated to hear about your return from the grave, Crackle.”

Oh, right. Gray remembered that he was in the middle of being completely and absolutely screwed. But he couldn’t let that slip. He was smarter than that, anyway. Gray relaxed, and deactivated Sparks.

“Good man. Let’s discuss this in the living room, shall we?”

Gray didn’t really think he had a say in the matter, as he allowed the stranger, the Faculty member, Roundabout, to lead him to the main room. Roundabout, moving much as if he owned the place, took the chair Lorikeet had at her work desk, and smiled, warmly, at him.

“I can’t imagine you don’t have questions, Crackle, after all, I am nothing but a stranger that has shown up, unannounced, in your home,” Roundabout opens his arms out, “I’m all ears.”

Gray sits down, as well. Tilts his head to the side, slightly, and raises an eyebrow, considering. He’s not smiling, but he’s not glaring, either. He’s moving with a dancer’s grace and he knows this, because he’s choreographed it all himself. 

“Well, you  _ broke into _ my home, unannounced, but I’m willing to just chalk all that up to semantics,” Roundabout’s smile widens, as Gray leans forward, masking his panic, “How did you know I was alive?”

“Who do you think covered it up in the first place?” Roundabout said, with a small laugh, “My dear doctor Bellum was really in no state to, her little weapons mishap placed her in the infirmary for what wasn’t the first and definitely won’t be the last time. I simply told her that you hadn’t survived, and that all the necessary arrangements had already been made. She was  _ rather _ disappointed, truth be told.”

Oh no, did this guy want repayment? Was he about to start blackmailing Gray in exchange for work? Gray raised an eyebrow, but his heart was beating in his ears. His instincts weren’t the best, but they were telling him that he did not want to be indebted to this man. 

“I’m sure she would’ve been,” he said, calmly, “She was quite elated when I reached out.”

“That she was,” Roundabout said, “I have to admit, I was rather surprised you did that.”

Gray was starting to get a sense of who Roundabout was. Well, enough of a sense for Gray to match his personality with something that suited. It had been a skill Gray had been practicing all his life, but it was really only at VILE that he could properly hone it. Put a name to it. There were very few people Crackle couldn’t win over (after all, it was a fate worse than death if he failed).

“Were you, though?” He asked, with a knowing smile, “I get the feeling that not very much surprises you at all, mate.”

“Well, alright, I’ll admit, it didn’t,” Roundabout laughed. Gray knew he was getting somewhere. “When it comes to other people, the only possibilities I exclude are the impossibilities. I knew there was a chance that you would reestablish contact, but I did not expect you to wait two months to do it. Indecisive, were you, Crackle?”

“Not at all, mate. There were external circumstances preventing me, you should understand. This is Carmen Sandiego we’re talking about, after all.”

The external circumstances named Amelia Diallo. Gray had known what he’d had to do for a long time before he’d even considered going to Bellum, because Amelia had needed him more. But there was no way in any hell he was telling anyone from VILE about her. He’d already put her in enough danger as it was.

“Of course,” Roundabout replied, “Though, Crackle, if you’d permit me to ask, if you  _ are _ so insistent on putting an end to our… scarlet threat, why might I have found you… here, of all places. Lorikeet, Bellum’s dear girl, surely cannot provide a more advantageous position than living directly with Miss. Sandiego could.”

Gray stopped, and for one second, the act slipped. Shit, why didn’t he think of an excuse? A reason? Because he knew that once he got figured out it was all over him. That there was no logic that could’ve justified his actions aside from the truth, and the truth would get him dragged to the front of the Faculty because he could blink. Harming fellow agents without justifiable logic was the one of the worst things a VILE agent could do (then again, what could the Faculty do that they hadn’t done already? Wipe his memories again? Kill him? To be honest, Gray wouldn’t complain, if he was caught).

“Unless,” Roundabout leant forward, and his smile was sharp enough to slice what remained of Gray’s facade to ribbons. “You have some…  _ other _ goal, as well? Something, or  _ someone,  _ that takes priority over your plans for Sandiego?”

Gray felt his eyes widen before he could stop himself. How the hell could Roundabout…. How? How? Oh, there was no way he was getting out of this. Even Lorikeet might get drawn into it. Would they kick her out? Wipe her memories like they did Gray? (What even warranted a memory wipe, would this be enough? That was only saved for exceptional circumstances, there was a reason it was never talked about.) Gray genuinely didn’t care if Lorikeet wound up dead in a ditch in the middle of nowhere, but he wouldn’t wish a memory wipe on anyone, even her.

Bellum knocked him out, when she wiped his memories (he didn’t know why she couldn’t have done that when she brought them back, but it doesn’t matter now). But that didn’t exactly make it bearable. Gray wished he could’ve been warned (and who on earth could’ve warned him?) but the worst part about it was the fear. Not the nagging feeling that something was  _ wrong, _ as Maelstrom and Bellum led him away, not the fear that followed the confusion when he was bound to the chair. Not even in the moment when he’d realised, he’d truly,  _ irreparably _ fucked up. The pure, unadulterated terror, when everything went black after the blinding flash of light, and Gray realised at that exact moment that Black Sheep had wanted this for him. That he’d failed. That this was all his fault. 

There was no fear quite like that.

Then Gray was being driven to a hospital and couldn’t even tell the paramedics what city he was in. That was the most he could remember or the initial aftermath, that, and lights, a lot of lights. What he does know is that nobody thought much of him and his lack of memory until a day later, (they’d kept him for observation, there was suspicion that he might have been taken something absolutely insane, and they probably weren’t wrong, the amount of drugs they must’ve pumped into him, to keep him out from VILE Island to Sydney must’ve been absolutely fucking astronomical). It was only when everything should’ve been cleared from his system and yet he couldn’t tell them the correct year that they started growing worried. 

But Gray only learnt all of this after the fact.  _ He’d  _ thought everything was gonna be fine with a bit of rest. They were just running some tests, just in case it was something they needed to worry about, it’ll be fine. They were just calling his parents to keep them in the loop, he was sure that was normal procedure. They were just doing some scans to check for an injury, there was no taking risks with the human brain, after all. He was going to be fine. 

And then they told him that, not only was he three years in the future from the last thing he remembered, it was staying that way, too. 

And then he was, very distinctly, not fine. 

Gray had to forcibly bring himself to reality, to Roundabout, who was still smiling at him like that. He had to school his expression, had to keep it all under control. 

“What, sorry?” He asked, trying to keep himself nonchalant. But Roundabout just sighed, and lent back. 

“It is really quite a shame I couldn’t become a teacher a few years earlier,” he said, “You would’ve really  _ flourished  _ under my tutelage.”

Gray blinked, “Thanks?”   
  


“Though, I suppose you’ve done quite well with what you’ve been given. But there’s only so far you can push the act, Crackle.” Roundabout leant forward. “I think I know what you’ve been planning.”

Gray didn’t know what to do, and all he could do was force himself to keep as neutral a face as possible. But already he knew all was lost. This conversation was just a prolonging of the inevitable. And it must have shown on his face, because Roundabout laughed. 

“Oh, my dear boy, do you really think I’m going to turn you in?” He asked, laughing not entirely unkindly, but not exactly mirthfully, either. “Of course not. I have higher aims than that.”

Bullshit. This guy was an undercover agent. Well, they were both technically undercover agents, but Roundabout was the undercover agent to the undercover agent. Did those things cancel each other out to make him an abovecover agent? Gray didn’t think that was a thing. 

“You still don’t believe me?” Roundabout cocked his head slightly, laughter faded to a kind smile. 

“Why should I?”

“Smart man. But, you have to remember, Crackle, not only am I on the VILE Faculty, I’m also holding an extremely high ranking position in the British Secret Service. I was the one who arranged your release from that,  _ sticky situation _ of yours in Paris. If I wanted you caught I would’ve done it already, and with far less theatrics.”

“Really? You seem like you’d like theatrics.”

“I’ve spent my entire life working from the wings. I have no intention of putting myself at risk by changing that fact. So no,” Roundabout, the man who had just broken into his house, had talked him down at weaponpoint, and was now sitting in front of him like a therapist, said, “no theatrics from me.”

“Right,” Gray said, still very much on edge, “So why  _ are  _ you here then? How do I know that any of this is the truth?”

“Well, it’s quite unfortunate, but I’m afraid you’re just going to have to take my word for it,” Roundabout smiled, apologetically, “Difficult, I know. But I assure you, I’m purely here for introductory purposes.”

“Introductory purposes?” Gray was not taking Roundabout’s word for it.

“I did not meet you without a degree of risk to myself,” Roundabout’s voice lowered, slightly, “As I’m sure you understand, whatever… steps you’re planning on taking, they may not be all that well received by my colleagues.”

“Okay…” Gray felt like he was being baited to confess. The best thing to say, in these situations, was as little as possible.

“But, again, as I’m  _ sure _ you’re aware, my colleagues can have some rather  _ traditional  _ ideas, at times.  _ I, _ on the other hand, believe it’s time that we consider broadening our horizons as to exactly what we can achieve, at VILE, and what methods we can employ to do so. After all, the fact that Carmen Sandiego can give us so much trouble says more about us than it does her. I think it’s time for a change.”

“Sorry, mate, if you don’t mind me asking,” and there was that mask again, Gray was acting like himself again, “Why are you telling me  _ any _ of this? I’m just the sparky, you’re pitching to the wrong guy.”

Well, the sparky was planning the murders of all his ex-friends, but  _ still. _ Did not warrant the vaguely villainous monologuing. 

“Well, I just wanted to introduce myself to an agent with such a reputation as yourself, and make it clear my curiosity and interest in your future endeavours,” Roundabout stood up. Gray knew it was good etiquette to follow suit, even if he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to make an enemy out of Roundabout, and he could tell that Roundabout was a man who cared a  _ lot  _ about etiquette. 

“And now I’ve achieved that, I’m afraid I must take my leave,” Roundabout said, bringing his cane back to his side, and reaching into his suit pocket. “But should you ever be in need of any assistance, completely anonymously, I assure, please do not hesitate to contact me.”

He handed Gray a cream coloured business card. Gray took it, feeling the thickness of the paper. 

“Oh- thank you,” Gray said, because he knew he had to say something, “And thank you, for the conversation. It’s given me... a lot to think about.”

Roundabout patted him on the shoulder, “And one more thing, I must ask that you keep this meeting from Lorikeet, for obvious reasons. We wouldn’t want to  _ worry her.” _

Gray very much  _ did _ want to worry her, but he didn’t say that. 

“Of course. We don’t want her  _ squawking, _ after all. No worries.”

“Excellent, Roundabout chuckled, “It has been truly fascinating to meet you, Crackle. I sincerely hope to work with you, in future.”

Gray saw him out, holding the door open for him, and waited several minutes after closing it for the distinct sound of the cane against Marseillais tiled stairs to fade away. Only then could he breathe, and he almost felt himself deflate as he did so.

He leant against the door, holding the business card still. 

The name listed was Roundabout. So, was Roundabout his Secret Service name as well? Or did he have a Regular Business Card and an Evil Business Card on hand at all times? How did he avoid getting them mixed up? Did he keep them in separate pockets? How did he explain it if he accidentally gave the wrong card to someone? Had he ever done that? Why would he even have the need for Evil Business Cards? What sort of Evil people, outside of VILE, was he Evil Introducing himself to? 

Well, Gray, apparently. Gray stared at the card. They were the exact questions Amelia would ask him. He could practically hear it in her voice. Her and Gray would laugh about it, and he’d feel just a little better about the whole thing.

Now, she was haunting him. In the corner of his eye, he saw her, in the quiet moments, he heard her. In that regard, she was just like the others. 

  
  


***

Gray opened the door for Lorikeet several days earlier than expected. The meeting had harrowed him enough to sap all the enjoyment out of having a bird free house. He hadn’t reached out to her about what had happened while she was gone, Roundabout had told him not to tell Lorikeet what had happened, and Gray wasn’t about to make any concessions for her, in any regard.

“Why didn’t my key work?” She demanded, by way of greeting. 

“Because we had a break-in, I rekeyed it,” he replied, tossing her a new key, “Would you happen to know a Faculty member named Roundabout?”

He was making any concessions for her, but he wasn’t  _ stupid.  _ And there was also one very important fact: regardless of what Lorikeet had promised him, she was Lorikeet, she was loud and blunt and she never shut her mouth, she couldn’t shut her mouth. And she was the only one who knew he was here. It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together.

“Roundabout,” Lorikeet raised, an eyebrow, looking uncomfortable, “Yeah I know him, why? Wait,  _ break-in?” _

“Yeah. Break-in,” Gray said, “And Roundabout was the one who  _ broke  _ in.” 

Lorikeet’s bag fell from her shoulder to the floor.

“He  _ what?” _ She shrieked.

“Broke in,” Gray said, calmly, “About three days after you left.”

And Lorikeet would know when Gray was alone. When the best time would be. Honestly, Gray was an idiot to trust her.

(But, honestly, who  _ wasn’t _ Gray an idiot to trust? This was his problem, he just kept making the same mistakes. He never learnt.)

“Shit, shit, what the  _ fuck?”  _ Lorikeet said, running her hands through her hair and gripping it at the back. “What the fuck was he doing here? Did he see you? Holy shit, why didn’t you  _ call _ me, send me a fucking Snapchat or something, shit, do we need to move? We are not fucking moving? Okay, okay, Keets, calm it the fuck down, prioritise.” She looked back at Gray. “Did Roundabout see you?”

“He was here  _ for  _ me, actually,” Gray said, leaning forward, “Which begs the question, how the fuck did he find out?”

“He was here for you? Wait, so he already  _ knew?” _

“Yes,” Gray glared at her, “Lorikeet, do you remember what I said I’d do to you if you told anyone, right?”

“Yeah, why does i-” it clicked for her, and she stopped, “Wait, do you think I snitched?”

“Who else could it have been?”   
  


Lorikeet’s mouth fell open, but not with shock or discomfort.

“Crackle, you fucking idiot!” She snapped, “I’m just as fucked as you are if this gets out, why the fuck would  _ I _ tell him?”

“Again, who else could it have  _ been?” _

Lorikeet’s eyebrows furrowed in what could only be her screwing her eyes shut tight, and after a pause, she let out a long, deep breath.

“Ok, ok, you know what? Fine, you’ve been out for two years, you know less about what’s going on at VILE than I do, and you’ve never met Roundabout before. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt on this.” Lorikeet fell onto the chair Roundabout had taken three days prior, and nearly fell off, with a squawk, as it spun beneath her.

“But seriously, Crackle,” she said, regaining her balance, “did you not pick up on what sort of person Roundabout was? Even  _ I  _ could figure out that he was a special breed of shady, that’s saying something. And he was only there for like, a day, before he got called back on Secret Service business. Oh yeah,” Lorikeet was quite good at looking at him like he was a special breed of stupid without the use of her eyes to communicate it. “Did he mention he was a part of the  _ British Secret Service?  _ If he wants to find out something, he finds it out, no question. What you’re doing is no exception.”

Well… Gray opened his mouth, and closed it again. It was…  _ unfortunately… _ seriously, did Gray really have to admit it? Fine. It was… Lorikeet made… a good point… 

Gray wished to never have to do that again in his  _ life. _

“He did mention it,” he got out, eventually, “He said that he was the one who got me out of Paris.”

“For as long as I’ve been at VILE,” Lorikeet said, “Roundabout’s been our man on the inside. He didn’t have many connections to VILE because he was  _ that _ far undercover. But he’s the one who keeps the legal scrutiny off our operations. The leeway we have is because of him, he’s fucking invaluable. He was first bets for Faculty, actually, Mechanic still owes me a new bike on that, and I was two months late to the betting party. She was real confident she was gonna get it, got  _ really  _ mad when I brought it up, how was it my fault she shat the bed in Dubai, I didn’t even  _ know _ about it. Anyway, the only reason we thought Roundabout would refuse was because it might interfere with his MI6 stuff, but his spot was next to guaranteed, with all the shit he’s done for us.”

“But, surely his higher ups at the same MI6 would’ve picked up on something? Particularly in the early days.”

Lorikeet shook her head, “Crackle, you _met_ _him,_ do you seriously reckon he wouldn’t pull some _insanely_ underhanded shit? Roundabout shot up faster than a virgin in a strip club.” 

“So,” Gray said, slowly, “If he wanted to track someone down…”

“He would have every single means to do it,” Lorikeet said, drily, “By  _ himself. _ So you can get lost with those accusations of yours. I  _ never _ break a promise.” 

“Yes, okay, fine,” Gray admitted, against every will, “You didn’t snitch.”

“Thank you,” Lorikeet rolled her eyes. At least, he assumed she rolled her eyes.

“Now, how worried should we be about Roundabout?” he asked her, “Because he kind of heavily implied to me, that he was in full support of the whole… plan. He even offered to help.”   
  


_ “What?” _ Lorikeet spluttered, “Wh- wait- how- he what?”   
  


“Offered to help. Well, implied it, more like.”

Lorikeet’s mouth was still open, “What the fuck… what the fuck… he can’t… he’s not…” She shook her head quickly, as if to banish the thought, “Okay, look, this can’t get back to anyone, and I mean  _ anyone, _ but I’ve never trusted Roundabout. Not as far as I can throw him- actually that’s pretty far, forget I said that, I’m a strong bird- but look, he’s fucking shady by VILE’s standard, and if he’s not only figured out what we’re doing, but supports it? We need to be fucking careful, Crackle, I don’t like where this is going.”

Fear settled low in Gray’s stomach. Again, he controlled his face.

“Do you think he’s going to double-cross us?”

“Not just us,” Lorikeet snapped, looking panicked, “If you think outside your ass for just a minute, you realise what a Faculty member telling you they’re down with you shanking two of your fellow agents might mean for the rest of us? The fact that the other Faculty can’t know about this is one of the reasons you’re here, mate.”

“What are the other reasons? Trust me, the  _ last  _ thing I’m trying to do here is pull birds.”

Lorikeet gave him a look of genuine disgust.

_ “Anyway,” _ she said, “This is fucking weird. I don’t know what he’s doing but he’s gone completely off the rails.”

“So, Roundabout’s gone off the roundabout?” Gray asked, “Onto the highway?” 

“Do you want me to give you another fucking scar, mate?”

“Sorry, sorry,” The shittier Gray’s humour got, the more it made his classmates feel better. And he knew how much it anchored them in times of stress, because it anchored him. Nothing tethered Gray more than deflection. “Lorikeet, what do we do?”

“What can we do?” Lorikeet leant back, looking exhausted and dejected. “We can’t exactly go to the Faculty, and I can’t do it alone because the only one who likes me is Bellum. And going would reveal everything. To all of them.”

“Lorikeet, that’s not an answer,” Gray couldn’t lose this chance, he couldn’t. “What do we  _ do?” _

He sounded more scared than he’d ever like to admit to Lorikeet that he could be. She raised an eyebrow at him.    
  


“Okay, calm the fuck down a couple of notches,” she said. It was surprisingly placating, “Do you think this is the first time I’ve had people  _ way _ more powerful than me on my ass? I wore sensory aids in primary school.”

“Yeah, in Brisbane,” Gray muttered, “Jesus.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that Brisbane is far superior to that mess you call fucking home, Sydneysider. As I was saying,” Lorikeet said, “You’ve got to take away whatever leverage they have over you, any means necessary.”

“And how do we do that?”   
  


Lorikeet shifted, “Look… if you were to give this up…”

“No. Absolutely fucking not.”

There was no way in any hell Gray was giving up. He wasn’t. He couldn’t. 

“It stops Roundabout from fucking us over even further, and…” Lorikeet paused, “Sometimes… I wonder if this is the best idea…”

“Well, it’s a good thing it’s none of your business, then,” Gray said, “This is part of a trade, remember? You’re just an annoying coworker, nothing more.”

Lorikeet sighed, “Yeah, yeah, and you’re a bundle of fucking sunshine, you know that?”

Gray ignored her.

“So, Roundabout can threaten to turn the Faculty or stop us altogether. That’s his leverage,” he said, trying to think it through out loud, “To take that away…” 

To take that away, we do it before he can stop us,” he eventually said, “Then he has no control over us, what’s he gonna do, we killed Carmen fucking Sandiego. Two random agents aren’t going to matter.”

“They’re not just two random agents-”

“Oh, what? Everyone has a role in the big VILE happy family?”

“We’re not- it’s not- fine.” Lorikeet sighed, “Fine, it’s not like I have any say over the matter either way. But just remember, you’ve got your own end of the deal to uphold.”

“Why do you even  _ want  _ my help on missions?”

“Well… uh, look, there are a lot of people who wanna see me screw up, okay? Like I said, the Faculty doesn’t like me that much. Except Bellum. But she recruited me, so I guess she doesn’t really have a choice on that. Then again… anyway, let’s leave it at that.”

“She recruited me, and still gave me  _ severe _ trauma without much issue.” 

“Yeah,” Lorikeet said, quietly, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Again, that’s not your business.”

“It is now, with what’s at stake, Rice Bubble Boy. If whatever the fuck’s going on in your head deteriorates, we’re fucked even more.”

She had a point. Gray sighed.

“I… I don’t actually know what’s going on,” he gestured to the back of his head, “If this is just some regular trauma bullshit… or...”

Lorikeet’s eyebrows furrowed, “upgraded... trauma bullshit? Like… diagnosable trauma bullshit? You’re gonna have to be more specific with me, I’m what we refer to in Queensland as ‘stupid’”

“And you’re what we refer to in New South as ‘and idiotic eyesore.’”

“Yet you’re the one they use as the textbook example. Anyway,” Lorikeet said, “You reckon you’ve got a secret mental illness on top of all your other, already there mental illnesses? Wait, actually, all your other mental illnesses are probably secret ones too. Mate, your brain’s like a psychologist’s Starbucks’ menu.”

“I don’t have  _ any _ mental illnesses.”

“And  _ I  _ rest my case.”

Gray glared at her. It had terrified him, when the nightmares started, the notion that what Matt and Toby had done to him had been made permanent. That what Carmen had done to him had been made permanent. That he would have to bear this forever, with no end in sight. There had to be something that could soothe him. There had to be.    
  


“It’s not that fucking bad,” Lorikeet murmured, “Even if you did. You make it out like it’s unsurvivable.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. Neurotypical people always do. Look, we’ll be fine, I’ve got a neurological learning disorder, you’ve got, whatever the fuck you’ve got going on in your heard - seriously, Crackle, you ever considered donating your brain for science, like, I know how much of a psych student’s wet dream you are.”

“Wow, you really know what to say to a guy,” Gray said, “I’m guessing you speak from experience.”

“Oh, yeah, there are fucking  _ ‘charities’  _ dedicated to fixing my shit. Anyway,” Lorikeet stood up, “I have spent  _ far  _ longer in your presence than I ever wanted to. I need to go shower. Also, could you please shut the curtains?” 

She stood up, picking up her bag, and walking out of her room. There was something that Gray had been thinking about since meeting Roundabout, that he couldn’t let go of even though he knew it was stupid. Lorikeet was the only person he could ask.

“Lorikeet, When I was talking to Roundabout, he mentioned I had a reputation.” Lorikeet stopped. “Was he just bullshitting… or?”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Lorikeet replied, turning around with a smile, “I actually got the chance to ask after you, on the mission.”

Gray didn’t know how to feel about that, it might raise some eyebrows. But, then again, Gray had the feeling that not many people took Lorikeet very seriously. 

“And?”

“You were an arrogant slut who was shit at his job.”

Gray should’ve known better than to think she would give him an actual answer. She left the room. 

“Thank you, Lorikeet,” he said, to himself. Already the variables were laying themselves out in his mind, just as they had so many months before. After all, all Roundabout’s meeting had done was make it clear that there was another one Gray needed to account for. 

He could work with this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this chapter got really overwhelming for a hot second, but I'm pretty okay with how it turned out, in the end.


	13. California Girl: Amelia's Unforgettable!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia discovers a love for travel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof college classes are stressful. I still haven't watched a lecture I was supposed to have done like a week ago.

Amelia’s thanking the flight attendant, thanking the pilots, and stepping off the plane before she even properly thinks about the consequences of her actions. And by this point, it’s far too late. 

It’s warm and windy on the tarmac, perhaps a little warmer than it should be, but Amelia’s just grateful for whichever favour Carmen did to get them access to travel in a pandemic (Player’s also pulling a few strings, she’s sure. Well, not right  _ now,  _ but still). 

The airport is… barely an airport. More of a hangar, really, (Amelia barely knows the difference, she’s not an airport expert. Hangar… expert?). It’s pitch black, Amelia flicks her phone torch on and pulls her jacket tighter around herself, because it may be warm but she’s got an  _ aesthetic _ and she needs to uphold it.

She arranged the car when she was about eight hours in on the plane. To leave it long enough for hints as to her location would be meaningless. Ignored the barrage of missed calls and unread texts as she did so. What were they gonna do, anyway? She was  _ way  _ too far for them to reach her.

Honestly, the thing that’s surprising Amelia the most, is the fact that she was able to get away with this  _ twice. _

The car’s waiting for her. She gets in, greets the driver, and then they head off in silence. She hadn’t even needed to  _ plan it. _ Just waited for the house to be empty, and made the call. All it took was for her to sneak out at 3am and she was golden.

Oh, she was going to be in  _ such  _ deep shit for this.

And so fucking what,  _ let  _ them get angry at her! They were already looking for a reason to. Already she was thin ice, already, because fates fucking forbid she commit the one cardinal sin of saying Gray’s name with anything other than contempt. Unless it was to express how much she hated and despised him, she was banned from breathing a word about him. And it was unbearable, Amelia couldn’t step outside her room without the feeling that she was being watched, that they were waiting for her to slip up and admit the horrible crime she had committed, and was still committing. Amelia couldn’t spend another day in that apartment. She hadn’t left it in just over a month.

The night was quiet, as they headed down the highway. Amelia figured she should call someone. She’d need to, eventually. But she didn’t bring herself to turn her phone off airplane mode. She didn’t want to hear it. She was ignoring calls for a reason. It would officially be the most she’d spoken to any of them, outside Player, since they got to Bangkok in the first place.

What was Carmen going to do to her? Amelia was trying desperately to avoid the obvious. It dawned on her with the same sickening feeling that came with a dawn of no sleep, that she might get sent back to Australia. And she couldn’t get sent back to Australia, that wasn’t fair. Zack and Ivy don’t get sent back to Boston (it  _ was _ Boston, right? They always assumed she could place the accent but she never could) for every bad impulsive decision  _ they _ made (and there were a  _ lot _ of those, by the way). And that’s what this was, just some impulsive decision Amelia didn’t think through. Nothing deeper, she was fine. She. Was.  _ Fine. _

Anyway, did Carmen really think banishment was gonna keep Amelia down for long? She’d fucked off halfway across the planet twice, by now, without Carmen’s notice, she could do it again.

The Seoul incident was generally a horrendous memory for Amelia, but as they drive she starts to remember the other things. That snowball fight with Gray (it wasn’t really a snowball fight, neither of them really figured out how to make a snowball, it was more a matter of yeeting the snow at each other and hoping it hit). It was, in the end, a regrettable decision, because the chill may have set in later for her, but it did set in. They’d ended up huddled together on Amelia’s bed, in as many blankets as they could find, watching Netflix and eating way more than they should. And she’d forgotten about that, in the horror and the pain of what followed, of sitting with him, trying to get warm.

But she wasn’t about to talk about that. She wasn’t allowed to after all, First Rule of Team Red’s New Household! No-one was to breathe a word on Graham Marks unless it was in complete disgust. Amelia couldn’t talk about Gray, who she made pancakes with and who bought her baked goods as a way to justify getting them for himself, who smiled and laughed and wasn’t always the brightest bulb in the bunch, and who did things Amelia could never really understand. He was gone, he was as good as fucking dead, wasn’t that right? He’d vanished into the darkness and all that had come back was a shadow puppet made by hands that hated him. 

But who cares, anymore? Amelia’s fine. She’ll get the air she needs here and then she’ll wait for Carmen and the rest to catch up with her. By her estimations, it’d take them about four hours to realise she was gone, give or take an hour to account for his intuition of when something was wrong. Should she have left a note? Just to make it clear that she hasn’t been brutally murdered? Because it doesn’t sound like the best idea.

“Hey guys, just gone out for groceries a twelve hour flight away. 

See you in a few!

-Amelia”

It sounds so stupid Amelia almost wishes she’d done it. 

The car stops. Amelia gets out, thanks the driver, and fixes her hoodie, again. In the forty five minutes it had taken to get here, the air had chilled drastically. Or maybe it was just her. The house towers over her, as cold and imposing as a castle. It’s inviting her in, she wants nothing more than to go in, but she can’t. Not yet. 

Amelia pulls out her phone. There was no point stalling the inevitable, because she needs the inevitable, and the inevitable would be arriving any minute now. 

Her phone buzzes in her hand. The inevitable is now calling, and he’s gonna be kinda pissed at her. 

“Yes?” She says.

“We’ve been looking for you for nearly ten hours, close to calling the police,” Player, panicked, all but snarls, “And then the silent alarm for the house in San Diego gets tripped. Amelia, where the  _ fuck _ are you?”

Was Player being rhetorical… because Amelia assumed it was pretty obvious…

“Take a guess,” she said. 

Player doesn’t speak for a moment.

“Amelia,” he says, slowly, “Please tell me that this is just some joke, and that you didn’t run away to  _ California?” _

Well...

“Technically, I flew away to California, but whatever,” She says, “I just thought it was time for a trip, you know?”

“No? No, I don’t know? Amelia, what was going through your head when you thought this was a good idea?”

“Okay, fine, fine, whatever, you don’t know, you’re mad I did this, bla, bla,” Amelia rolls her eyes, “Now, could you disable the security, please? I wanna get into the house.”

“You want to- wha- you will lead them straight to us!” Player spluttered. 

“Who, VILE? If VILE wanted to come here, they would’ve  _ been  _ here by now.”

“Not if they thought the house was empty, if they figure out someone’s inside…”

“What, do they have people watching one random house in San Diego all day, every day?” Amelia asked.

“They probably do, once they found out Carmen used to live there!” Player said, “After… after Gray told them, I wouldn’t be surprised if  _ he  _ was watching it… wait,” He stopped, “Amelia, are you trying to-”

“No- why, in any strain of logic, would I do that, Player?” She’s not an idiot she’s fine, “Now, could you  _ please _ turn the security off, I don’t want to get blasted into oblivion when I try to open the front door.”

“You won’t get  _ blasted,  _ my security is  _ way _ more intricate than- wait, no!” Player snaps, “No, you’re waiting right there, and  _ I’m  _ calling Carmen.” 

Amelia raised an eyebrow, “And that will do exactly  _ what?” _

Player didn’t seem to hear her, “Do you have any idea how  _ worried _ we were, I almost had to call your parents and tell them you’d gone missing, I  _ never _ want to be put in that position again.”

“I highly doubt  _ you _ would be the one to have to tell them.”

“I’m the one who has their contact details!” He almost yelled it, Amelia had to pull the phone away from her ear.

“Okay, Player, we get it, you’re upset,” she said, after enough time had passed for him to calm down, “Now, can you stop being a dick and unlock the door?”

“How are you so  _ calm,  _ do you not understand what’s- No. I told you, I’m calling Carmen and she’s coming to get you and you’re staying  _ right where you are.” _

“Well unless  _ Carmen _ knows how to teleport,” Amelia said, “I highly doubt she’ll be doing anything soon. Leaving me, this poor, defenceless young girl, stranded in the cold at 2am in the morning. Player, let me in.”

“No.”

“Let me iiiiiiiin.”

“No!”   
  


“Okay, now you’re just being petty,” Amelia grumbled, “How about this. Let me in or I’ll leave. And I’ll dump my phone, too, good luck tracking me.”

“No, Amelia, stay right there!”

Amelia puts her phone on the cold cement, and makes sure to make her stomping footsteps can be heard.

Maybe she could go to the bakery her and Gray used to go to. The one with the pet samoyed. Amelia had always wanted a dog, but both Mama and Nana were allergic. Her and James had raised tadpoles together, though, and Amelia, alongside the rest of neighbourhood kids, got to spend her summer holidays with grubby hands pressed up against increasingly smudged glass, looking for back legs, then front legs, and reaching for the shrinking tails with shrieking voices. James and Amelia had nearly made themselves late on the first day of school, getting their summer friends the rocket frogs back to the creek (James was just about to start Year 1, and Amelia was already aware that he was reading the Red Grade Reading Books that she wasn’t allowed to touch until she was in Year 3. And it was just starting to worry her.)

She hasn’t called her family in over a month, now. But not in a bad way, she’s fine. She’s just busy. Amelia wanders down the road, as slowly and as loudly as possible.

“Okay, okay, fine!” She hears, when she’s about three metres away. Amelia smiles, and turns around. 

“Thank you.”

“Just give me a minute… and… done. You’ll still need your key, though,” Player said, resigned, “But the security measures are off.”

Amelia pulled her key from her front pocket, and, as she had done too many times before, unlocked the door. The bell from the deer keyring Carmen had gotten her, (from Japan again, Amelia had sprained her wrist in a wheelie chair race with Zack and Ivy the day before they were supposed to leave) jingled faintly as she pushed it open. 

And she was greeted to a house with the only soul in it being dust in the air. Walking over the doorway felt like walking through the veil. It was like someone had made a wax museum of her life. 

“Did you know that Madame Tussauds’ original job as a modelist was to make death masks for people executed in the French Revolution?” She asked. 

“What?” Player said, “Where did that come from?” 

“A friend of mine read a short story about it when researching for her English major project in Year 12. Apparently, it was what she had to do to stay alive,” Amelia said, “Traumatised the shit out of her. Apparently.”

She opens empty kitchen cupboards just to enjoy seeing them empty. She enjoys it. She’s enjoying this. This was what she came here for. 

  
Well, actually, what she came here for was upstairs. But anyway. She flicked her torch on, the shadows stretched away from her so unnaturally. This was barely her house, anymore. 

“Amelia,” Player says, slowly, “What’s going on? Why are you doing this?”

“Nothing, nothing. I’m fine. I was just… impulse decision, I told you.”

“This is way more than an impulse decision, this is traversing continents,” Player said, “Seriously, Amelia, are you okay?”   
  


“I’m fine. I told you I was fine, and I am. There was just... some stuff that I left here, I guess I wanted to get it back.”

“If you wanted to get your stuff back, then you could’ve talked to Carmen, or Shadowsan. Instead of running off on a plane and scaring the ever loving shit out of us, seriously, what were you thinking? Did you never learn from…”

He stops before he finishes his sentence, but the sting’s still sharp and ever present. Both her and Player know it. 

“I won’t… it’s nothing like Seoul.”

“How?” Player asked, “You’re doing the exact same thing, you’re putting yourself at risk, VILE knows where that house is and they know we were there, and you just think you can walk right into there without a shred of danger? Amelia, this is  _ exact-” _

“I’m the only one who can get hurt, this time,” she snaps, “It’s  _ nothing _ like Seoul.”

Player goes quiet.

“That’s… that’s my  _ point,” _ he says, and he genuinely sounds terrified for her. She hates it, “You’re not-  _ shit,  _ Amelia… are you-”

“Not  _ now,” _ she hisses, “I’m fine. I don’t have time for this.”

She walks up the stairs, and for a moment the shadows all around her almost convince her that there is something in this house more alive than she is. Maybe she belongs here, in this little mausoleum, Player hastily murmuring in her ear, too quiet for her to understand. But she doesn’t really mind it. He’s almost as if tethering her to the land of the living. 

“So, what exactly are you hoping to get here?” Player asked. 

Amelia shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it, “Just some stuff that I left behind, it should be in my room.”

“So you don’t even know what you wanted to get? Did you plan this at all?”

“What? Wanted me to curate a shopping list?” Also, no, Amelia didn’t plan this at all. She didn’t even know it was what she wanted to do until about three nights ago. “I told you, it was an impulse decision. Also, it was  _ way _ too easy for me to pull this off. You guys need to keep way better tabs on me and what I’m doing.”

“You’re making this our fault? Seriously?”

“I’m just saying, Player,” Amelia said, clearing the final step, “for a hacker who’s whole thing is picking up flaws in security, you left a pretty big one of your own.”

“Not invading my friend’s privacy isn’t a flaw,” Player said. 

“I know, I know. And,” Amelia pauses, in the hallway, “honestly, thank you. You do a lotta stuff for me, I... really appreciate it.”   
  


“It’s nothing. You’re one of us, you’re my friend.”

Amelia has never felt something to be farther from the truth. She’s nothing like them. 

They grieve and they whine and they  _ hate  _ him, they hate him so much that nobody can ever talk about him. Amelia’s as different from  _ them  _ as day is night. She’s  _ fine, _ she’s an adult who can handle herself and who doesn’t think about him at all, even when he left a scar just below her temple that  _ they _ all look at and hate him more for. 

But she says nothing, and simply walks down the hall. It doesn’t take long for her to reach her bedroom door. She puts a hand on the doorknob, and can feel the dust beneath her fingers. 

“Which is why I’m so…”

Player’s voice seems to fade away as Amelia pushes it slowly open. Because it was like stepping into the ribcage of the whale (saying it had a belly was like saying it had life. Blatantly untrue.) 

It’s still a mess. Her bed is still unmade, her plushies are still scattered upon it (of course she couldn’t bring them with her, she was only to take the necessities). It’s empty and it’s devoid and it’s everything she was and maybe still is. There’s still some clothes of hers in the closet, nearly all her makeup’s on the vanity (Carmen had taken hers, but Carmen had a lot more to conceal than Amelia did, and was doing a far worse job of it). There’s still stationary on her desk, all neatly aligned. And even though it feels like she’s staring at her life through museum glass, this room is more welcoming to her than that stupid place in Bangkok could ever be. 

“Amelia? Amelia, are you there?”

Player sounds worried. But when doesn’t he sound worried? For the past month, that’s all he’s ever been. Worried, worried, worried. About her, about Carmen, about everything in the known fucking universe, about her. Always about her. He’s just a kid, why is he so stressed about her? She knows what she’s doing, she’s turning twenty this month, she’s old enough to know better than to fall apart like the rest of them have. Honestly, he’s wasting his time.

She’s sitting on her bed, her knees curled up to her chest and not quite remembering how she got there. 

“Yeah, sorry. Zoned out.”

Gray had told her that he loved her, the exact same night he gave her that scar. His words play in her mind more often than she’d like to admit. He loved her, he loved her, was he trying to remind her of that, before he did what he did, trying to reassure her, or was he trying to make it sting? Was it a lie? Did he lie to her? Why would he lie to her?

(It doesn’t escape her notice that there were  _ very  _ few Gray wouldn’t lie to. But she always thought she was one of that few. Had she been wrong, this entire time?)

The house creaks around her, even though there’s no wind. A bird lands on the roof, Amelia can hear it faintly. She’s completely alone, anyhow. Because whether Gray loved her or not, he still left. 

“Where are you, right now?” Player asks.

“My room.”

“Okay, so get the stuff you need and get out. Carmen’s on her way.”

“How much on her way?”

“On the plane, about six hours away. Turns out Zack was able to piece together where you might be going pretty quickly.”

“So,” Amelia says, “I have another six hours to do whatever I want, here, before it all goes to shit?”

“All goes to shit?”

“Well, obviously, whatever Carmen’s going to do to me isn’t going to be pretty.”

“You make it sound like she’s gonna torture you or something,” Player tells her. Amelia doesn’t know how to explain it to him. She should’ve packed her bags before she left Bangkok. 

“I mean, after Seoul… I wasn’t allowed to leave the house unsupervised for two months…”

“But, that wasn’t Carmen, though,” Player starts, “that was-” 

“Me. My fault, I know.”   
  


“No,” Player says, suddenly, “No, that’s not what I’m trying to say at all. What I am… is… Carmen, doesn’t really take well to - I mean, she can handle it, when push comes to shove - but she doesn’t handle being wrong very well. Or… things being her fault. I think, a lot of what happened… after Seoul… it was about her trying to… it wasn’t really  _ her.” _

Wasn’t really… Carmen? So who was it? And who was Amelia? The scapegoat? The sacrificial offering for Carmen Sandiego’s mistakes?

“She was just… going through a lot, at the time.”

“Oh,” Amelia said, “Right. Of course she was.” 

So that was it. Amelia was going to spend the rest of her life being hated to protect Carmen, it was always going to be like this, Amelia being separated from the rest of them, Amelia being alone. Forever. For Carmen. 

Suddenly, she felt sick, she felt pressure building against the inside of her skull. Suddenly, she couldn’t be in this room anymore, because all she could think about were the days on end where she shut herself in here, with only Gray game enough to cross the threshold, because he was the only one she felt she could trust unconditionally (the fucking  _ irony! _ ). The days that were now stretching into the future, again and again, she could see the past reflected in it like she was standing in the middle of the two mirrors themselves.

Her eyes were burning, tears were blurring her vision. Her jaw was aching with the effort of keeping her face still. She couldn’t do this, she was fine, she was  _ fine,  _ she was better than this, she was better, she was better, she was an adult, she was nearly twenty years old, she couldn’t be like this anymore, she couldn’t  _ be _ like this! She… she… she…

“Amelia?”

She…

She wants Gray. She wants him back. She wants to know they’re both going to be okay. That he loves her. That it wasn’t a lie. She just wants him close again. She just wants him.

“Amelia, is everything okay?” 

She was racing down the hallway, and before she could stop to think about what she was doing Gray’s bedroom door was wide open. 

And, oh, dear. Amelia’s staring at the photos that are still taped up on Gray’s wall, but it appears, somehow, miraculously, that one’s been reanimated. 

Wait...

Amelia wipes the tears away, just to make this wasn’t some tear induced illusion, but no, it’s not.

Matt and Toby are staring at her. 

“What the fuck?”

“What is it? Amelia? Amelia, are you okay? What’s happened?” Player demands.

Matt’s eyes are glistening, and even though Toby's a foot taller than Amelia is and looking like the next James Bond in that suit, she’s  _ immediately _ aware that he’s not the one she has to be scared of. 

“Um, Player?” She says, and her voice is trembling but what the fuck is she supposed to do? “Player, the Phantom Thieves are here.”

And then her back’s against cold, empty hardwood flooring. And something’s on her chest, holding her down. Her phone skitters away, Player’s tinny, scared voice still coming out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amelia's discovering a newfound talent for giving a Canadian teenager aneurysms.


End file.
